


Not Half So Happy In Heaven

by Unfair_Verona



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Plague, The Dark One (Once Upon a Time), True Love, Werewolves, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 05:24:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9420545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unfair_Verona/pseuds/Unfair_Verona
Summary: Rumplestiltskin grew up as a servant in Lord Maurice's estate, where he befriended the Lady Belle. After Belle is betrothed to Sir Gaston and sent away, a broken-hearted Rumple tries to make his way in the world, eventually marrying and having a son.But soon rumors of a terrifying plague begin to circulate, and Rumple comes face to face with the truth: the dead are rising and walking the land. He sets off on a journey to reunite with Belle--and his now-missing son--before it is too late.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I bring you my first attempt at Rumbelle fanfic. I was inspired by Poe's 'Annabelle Lee' and then somehow the gothic death themes of the poem lent themselves perfectly to a zombie apocalypse featuring our fave OUaT characters. Read on, if you dare! I love comments, so please let me know what you think! Happy reading!

Rumplestiltskin still vividly remembered the day that he was brought to Avonlea as a boy. The enormous, sprawling estate sat on a hill overlooking the sea. He could feel the salt spray against his face, and the very air was thick and moist. Gulls screeched and flapped, and the waves crashed upon the rocks below. 

Rumple's father had run off, presumably for good this time, leaving him in the care of his two aunts, who were in the employ of Lord Maurice, the master of Avonlea. Maurice had agreed to let the boy stay and live in the servants' quarters, on the condition that he earned his keep. And so, Rumplestiltskin was put to work in the manor and on its vast grounds. He helped his aunts with spinning, sewing and mending, he mucked out the horse stalls, ran errands and scrubbed floors, proving himself to be very useful indeed. 

Rumple didn't mind working for Lord Maurice; the master was a fair employer, for the most part, a widower who doted endlessly on his only child, a young girl named Annabelle, called Belle for short. A few years younger than Rumple, Annabelle was a very bright spot in his world during the time that he spent at Avonlea. The girl had taken an immediate liking to him and often trailed after him while he worked. At first, Rumplestiltskin was rather dumbfounded by all this attention: Belle was a beautiful girl of noble birth and he was nothing, a thin servant boy with no prospects, messy hair and the teeth and bearing of a peasant. Yet she acted as if he hung the moon in the sky, and eventually he began to care for her quite deeply. 

As the years passed, the two became nearly inseparable. When the weather was fair they ran through the orchards together and climbed trees, building imaginary kingdoms and pretending to have grand adventures, fighting monsters and evil queens. 

Belle told him over and over again how much she longed to see the world, to get away from Avonlea, which she found stifling. He slowly began to realize that she had as little choice in her destiny as he did: her father made all decisions on her behalf, and she confessed to Rumple how she was afraid that she would be married off to some horrid old nobleman, who would keep her under lock and key even more than Maurice did. Rumple tried to assure her that this would never happen, and to placate her he promised that if that day were to arrive, she and him would run away together. This promise seemed to make Belle happy, and that pleased Rumple, even though he knew it was a lie, and could never happen, no matter how much he wished that it could. 

More time passed, so quickly that it startled him. Belle was nearly grown now, and she had turned into a beautiful young woman, with creamy skin, startling blue eyes, and long waves of auburn hair. Rumple now could certainly not deny his feelings for her, or that the nature of those feelings had changed, from childlike affection into something stronger. 

And then the dreaded day finally arrived. Belle ran into the stables, crying, and threw herself into Rumple's arms. She explained that her father had given her hand to Sir Gaston, who lived further up the coast, at the very edge of their country. She begged him to keep his promise, to run away with her, but he knew he could not. He explained this to her with a sinking heart, and he would never forget the devasted, hopeless look on her face as she turned away from him and walked back to the manor to accept her fate. 

He knew he had failed her, and this failure carved its way into him, marking him forever. The day that Sir Gaston arrived to take her away was the worst day of Rumple's life. Belle wouldn't even look at him as she climbed into the carriage, did not glance back as it headed down the road, taking her out of his life forever. 

Now that he was nearly a man, Rumplestiltskin had decided that he could no longer stay at Avonlea. The memory of Belle, and of his cowardice and failure, was too much to bear. So he set off on his own, taking with him the skills that he had learned from his aunts, and attempted to make a life for himself. He first found work in the rock quarry on the other side of the vast forest that crossed the land. It was hard, strenuous labor and he missed the smell of the sea, of apples growing in the orchards. He missed Belle. 

It was while he was working there that he met a woman named Milah, who was a relative of the foreman. She seemed pleasant enough, even if there was something about her that he didn't quite trust. They began a courtship and eventually were married. Their relationship was not the warmest, Milah nagged at him and complained endlessly. She wanted him to find a higher paying position, wanted to move out of their modest little cottage and into a large house. She berated Rumple for not trying hard enough to make that happen for her. 

Still, she did eventually bear him a son, a boy that they named Baelfire, and he quickly became the new brightness in Rumple's increasingly dreary world. Then, as fate would have it, one day, there was an accident at the quarry and his ankle was crushed by a boulder. This injury left him with a permanent limp, and unable to do that type of physical work any more. 

Needing to provide for his family, he took a job as a spinner. His aunts had provided him with good instruction and had always praised him as a natural. Indeed, he seemed to have a talent for it, and soon was selling yarns and threads at the village market. He didn't make a tremendous amount of money, but at least his family was fed, had a roof over them and clothes on their backs. However, now Milah treated him more coldly than ever, often with outright contempt. She began to drink heavily, and spent many nights out at the village tavern, at times not even coming home until morning. 

It was around this time that a tension hovered over the land, and strange stories began to circulate. Tales of a plague that would transform the afflicted into bloodthirsty wraiths, who would attack like animals, spreading the sickness with their bite. At first, Rumple dismissed the stories as nonsense, and figured that they would die down after the village gossip changed to something new. Yet this did not happen, and in fact more and more stories emerged, citing attacks from the wraiths as close as the next village over. People now rarely left their houses unless it was absolutely necessary, and a grim cloak of darkness and foreboding settled itself firmly all around them.

Perhaps it was this choking darkness that made him wish to seek happier thoughts, and Rumplestiltskin often found his mind flitting back to his youth at Avonlea. He still thought of Belle all the time, though he had a wife and son. He often wondered how his life might be different had his station been elevated, or had he simply not been so cowardly. He wondered often how she was faring with Gaston, if she had heard the tales of the wraiths as well. If she ever thought of him at all, if she was still angry with him for not keeping his promise.

X

One particularly dark day, after market, Rumple returned home to find Milah sitting alone at the table, a cup of ale in front of her. Baelfire was nowhere to be found. Rumple narrowed his eyes at his wife. "Where is Bae?" he demanded. 

Milah looked up at him with defiant, slightly glassy eyes. "I've sent him to my family up the coast. It's safer there. This village is falling to pieces."

His hand twitched on the handle of his walking stick. "You sent my son away without consulting me?" Rumple asked disbelievingly. 

His wife drained her cup and then reached for the large flagon that was resting on the table and poured herself some more.

" _Our_ son, Rumplestiltskin," she corrected in clipped tones. "I can't trust you to protect us." She stood up from the table, swaying a little. "I've bartered passage on a ship; I leave at dawn. I won't take my chances here with you. They're getting closer. I've heard the stories, what they do. No, I'm getting as far away from here as possible."

So angry that he could barely see straight, he set his jaw and turned back around, heading out the door again without another word to Milah. This was a new low, even for her. She was certainly free to leave if she wanted, he would not stop her--but to send Baelfire away without even considering his opinion in the matter was unacceptable. Rumple fumed, for one moment envisioning his hands around her neck, choking the life out of her as she had been slowly doing to him all these years. 

It was late afternoon, and the few sellers who had been at market were packing up and dispersing, wary of the encroaching nightfall. There was one stand still up, selling various blends of tea. It belonged to a strange fellow with a large hat, who didn't seem bothered by the thought of the wraiths stalking them. Rumple had noticed him before, finding something odd and out of place about the man; there was a kind of faraway mischief in his eyes.

"Hey again," he said, noticing Rumplestiltskin, who merely grunted in reply. The man just kept staring at him, and so Rumple asked, "Shouldn't you be packing up?"

He shrugged and studied his fingernails.

"I mean, you must have heard--"

"Of course I've heard," the man interjected. "A plague of wraiths swarming the countryside, wo betide us, the end is nigh." He shrugged again. "I'll be out of these parts soon enough, I travel very quickly so it doesn't really matter to me what's on its way. Might as well make a bit of coin while I can."

Rumple blinked, a bit thrown by the man's cavalier attitude. "Well...this plague, you must also know, has spread quite far. On the other side of the Forest, even into Lord Midas' territory. "

Again, the strange fellow gave no sign that he was bothered by this. "As I said, I travel very quickly. But if you're so concerned, then why are you still here?" he wondered, cocking his head to one side, studying Rumple.

He balked just a little under the man's gaze. "I..." He didn't have a good answer for that. "I'll be leaving tomorrow," he said, having just decided this. "My son has been sent to stay with family up the coast. I remained behind to get all of our affairs in order and then I'll be joining him."

The stranger nodded, seeming satisfied by this. "Well then," he said, standing and offering his hand, "I wish you luck in your travels. Jefferson is the name."

Rumple accepted the handshake. "Rumplestiltskin," he said. 

Jefferson laughed heartily. "Hard to forget a name like that. Perhaps we shall meet again, sir, in a happier time."

"Perhaps," Rumple said, and then turned towards home. He really had dawdled a bit too long, he realized, and now the sun was quickly falling below the horizon. As he moved quickly down the path to his cottage, Rumple could see that the door was slightly ajar. Then he heard a scream cut through the air. It was Milah. 

With mounting terror, he pushed the door open. None of the stories that he'd heard could possibly have prepared him for the sight that greeted him there. The thing, the wraith, had his wife backed into a corner. She clutched a piece of burning wood from the fireplace and was thrashing it at the creature, trying to defend herself. In the firelight, its macabre visage appeared even more ghoulish: waxy, rotting skin, yellow eyes, and gnashing teeth inside a mouth rimmed in blood. 

It lunged at Milah, knocking her to the ground. The burning log was tossed a few feet away, where the flames caught on the table leg and continued to blaze and spread. Through her struggling, Milah managed to look over and she saw him standing in the doorway. 

"Rumplestiltskin!" she cried, "Help me!" 

Her eyes were wild with terror and for one brief moment he was swarmed with pity, and contemplated helping her--but what could he do? He was no match for that wraith, he'd merely be condemning himself to death along with her. Self preservation won out and he proved himself to be the coward that she always thought he was. He shut the door right as the creature sank its teeth into her shoulder. 

As Rumple tried to drown out the sound of her final screams, he grabbed one of the large, heavy barrels at the side of the cottage and dragged it around to the front of the door. Then he hurried away as fast as his leg would allow, while behind him the screaming finally died away and the cottage was slowly engulfed in flames.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple has a close encounter with one of the wraiths, but is saved by an old friend.

Rumplestiltskin walked for as long as he could, making his way through the dark forest, finally pausing when he could go no further. He sat down and leaned against the trunk of a large tree. Resting his head against the wood, Rumple took a moment to consider his options. He would head for the coast: that was where Milah had sent Bae. And it was also where Belle would be, he realized. 

He felt that he owed it to her to at least make sure that she was safe, since he could not save her from her fate when they were young. As he hated the thought of his son without him while the wraiths were roaming, he also cringed to think of sweet Belle amid this danger. He had failed once, but never again: he would protect those he loved.

Rumple sighed and tried to stretch out his throbbing leg. Though he swore that he would only close his eyes for a moment, exhaustion soon overtook him and he nodded off into a fitful slumber. When he woke, the pale light of morning was filtering through the trees. The air was chilly and a faint mist covered the forest ground. Then Rumple heard a crunching sound behind him and was startled fully into alertness. 

Wincing at the stiffness in his ankle, he got to his feet as quickly as he could manage. The noise came closer and Rumple peered from around the trunk of the tree, his heart thudding with fear, his breath coming in quick pants. He watched as his fears were confirmed and one of the wraiths appeared.

It moved with a shuffling gait, dragging its feet. Rumple's eyes widened as he got a clearer view of its face, which was startlingly familiar. He recognized it as the woman who sold cheese at market. But she had become one of them. So it was true, then: this plague infected with a bite, filling ordinary people with a violent bloodlust. She must have been bitten, and then transformed. 

He stumbled back a little and a twig snapped under his foot. Hearing this, the wraith's head turned and it began to quicken its pace and amble in his direction. Grabbing his walking stick, Rumple cursed under his breath and tried to run. The best he could do was hobble and drag himself along. It occurred to him that he moved only a little better than the creature.

The wraith was now fixed on Rumple, and picking up speed. Even with its poor coordination, he wouldn't be able to outrun it for long. To make matters worse, at that moment his leg caught on a raised tree root and he went sprawling to the ground, the stick knocked from his hands. As he struggled to get to his feet, the wraith advanced, until it was nearly upon him. 

Rumplestiltskin watched in horror as it loomed above, reeking of death, its yellow, bloodshot eyes boring into him, half of the skin peeling back from its skull, exposing the skeleton beneath. He could not even scream. The single emotion that went through him at that moment was a deep and permeating regret. Then something extraordinary happened. As the creature reached for him with a bony, rotted hand, an arrow burst clean through its eye socket. It abruptly stilled, slumping down onto him. 

Rumple desperately shoved at the wraith, managing to push it off of him. Then he attempted to scramble away, still reeling with terror and also, now, disbelief.

"Are you alright?" asked a voice.

He looked up and saw his apparent rescuer, a young woman with long dark hair and a pretty, girlish face. She carried a bow in her hand. "Were you bitten?" 

Rumple managed to shake his head. "Good," the woman said, seeming relieved. Another figure came hurrying over to her side, a blonde haired young man with what looked like an antique sword. "That was a close call," the man said, helping Rumple to his feet.

"My ankle," he explained with a wince, gesturing to the walking stick on the ground, which the woman retrieved for him. 

"Thank you," he told them gratefully. "For saving me. If you hadn't have come along when you did..." 

The woman was now peering curiously at his face. "Rumplestiltskin?" she asked. "Is that you?"

Now that the world had steadied itself a little, he could get a better look at her as well, and she did seem familiar. Rumple searched his memory, and then finally placed her. "Lady Mary Margaret?" 

Her eyes widened and a smile caught the corners of her mouth. "It _is_ you! I haven't seen you in ages! Not since I last visited Avonlea."

Lady Mary Margaret and her widowed young stepmother, Lady Regina, had been frequent visitors at Lord Maurice's estate, they were close friends of the family. Mary Margaret had always been kind and sweet, a bit of a tomboy. She often joined him and Belle outdoors and they'd both enjoyed her company. Regina, though very beautiful, was cold and almost haughty, and Rumple had never been fond of her. Now he remembered something else: Lady Regina was also a cousin of Sir Gaston's. Perhaps Mary Margaret had some information regarding Belle.

"Do...how does Sir Gaston fare?" he asked, though he knew she might think it an odd question for him to be asking at the time."And his wife, the Lady Belle?"

"Oh." Mary Margaret looked a little uncomfortable for a moment, then answered, "Sir Gaston, he was...missing, last I heard. He went out with a group to try and hunt down as many of the wraiths as possible." 

Rumple felt his stomach drop. "This plague has reached that far up the coast?"

She looked at him with an almost pitying expression, then said, "It's _everywhere_. But," she hurried to add, seeing the horrified look on his face, "Lady Belle was fine, the last time I saw her. But that was weeks ago."

"Weeks," Rumple repeated. He was confused, to put it mildly. "Forgive me for asking, but what in hell are you even doing out here in the woods?"

Mary Margaret sighed and the young man glanced at her sympathetically. "It's a long story. I'll tell you, but first we should get out of the open."

Together they helped Rumple up a small embankment to a makeshift shelter that they had been using as a temporary camp. It was hidden enough that they could hopefully avoid being spotted by the wraiths, and provided enough view of the surrounding area that any could be seen before they arrived. Mary Margaret introduced her companion, who Rumple was astonished to learn was Viscount Nolan's son, David. 

Two nobles, living like bandits in the woods. The world certainly had changed, he thought to himself. David gave him a skin filled with water, which Rumple gratefully accepted, as well as a small chunk of bread. As he ate, Mary Margaret began her tale.

"At first, we thought it was all stories. Superstitious country folk spreading rumors, that was what Regina said. But then we saw them with our own eyes. Ordinary people, changing into monsters, killing without a thought. Lord Maurice was sure that it was the work of demons. I'm sure that you remember how religious he was, and he's only gotten more zealous over time." 

Rumplestiltskin did recall that his former master had fancied himself a pious man, and often attended daily service in the estate's chapel. He nodded at Mary Margaret, who continued.

"He brought in clerics to drive out the evil from the land, but of course it did no good. They just kept coming. We were kept relatively safe at Appleton," she explained, using the name of her own family's estate. "Much of the building is older, and was very well fortified. Gaston and Lady Belle were there with us as well. We had provisions, and weapons. All of the staff were outfitted with rifles and instructed to kill any wraiths seen coming onto the property. We managed to keep a secure perimeter for quite awhile. Until..." she trailed off, looking pained. David set a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I did something," Mary Margaret said, looking down at her hands and then back up at Rumple. "I didn't know, but Regina had been romantically involved with one of the groundskeepers, a man named Daniel. I wasn't supposed to leave the main house, but I hated being cooped up in there. I often snuck out and took my horse, and my bow of course, and went riding to check for wraiths, shooting any that I came across. Then one day, as I was returning, I saw that one of them had gotten past the perimeter and was heading towards the house. Daniel was trying to stop it, but I suppose he panicked, and then he was bitten. I shot an arrow at the wraith and killed it, but I wasn't fast enough. Regina had seen the whole thing happen, and came running out into the yard, screaming and crying. Though we both knew what had to be done, she forbade anyone from harming Daniel. She brought him inside the house and tried to care for him. I fought her, trying to make her see the danger that she was putting us all in, but she was so wild with grief that she wouldn't hear it." 

A shadow crept into Mary Margaret's eyes, making her appear older. "The change only takes a few hours to occur, at most. I saw the signs in Daniel right away. He was growing deathly pale, though he was burning up, and then he slipped out of consciousness. When Regina finally left the room I went in, and I killed him. I had a duty to protect my home and my family. Regina saw what I had done and she went mad. Held a pistol right up to my face and told me to get out, that if I ever came back she would kill me. And so, I fled. Thankfully I've spent much of my life outdoors, so I knew my way around the woods. I traveled on horseback, until I was ambushed by a group of wraiths. I managed to escape and climb a tree, but my horse...he was torn to pieces, right under me. I stayed up in that tree for nearly two days, until David found me. He drove off what was left of the herd and helped me down. We've been together ever since." Though there were tears in her eyes from recounting the tragic events, she smiled at the blond man and Rumple could see immediately how deeply they cared for one another, even after a short while. Circumstances like these could have that effect, he supposed.

"How awful," Rumple told her, truly sorry for everything the poor young woman had suffered, but in awe of her bravery. 

"It's alright," Mary Margaret said, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "At least we've made it this far."

Something else that she had said, earlier in the conversation, came back to Rumple. "So...Lady Belle was alive then, last you saw?" 

Mary Margaret nodded. "Oh, yes. She was fine. Spent most of her time in the library, reading. I remember how close you two were. She still spoke fondly of you, said that the times you spent together were the happiest of her life. I think that she was very worried much of the time, though. Gaston and a few of his hunting friends set off about a week before I left. They were only supposed to be gone a day or two at most, but they never returned. And there hadn't been word from Lord Maurice in over a month's time, either, so nobody can be sure what the state of Avonlea is. But enough about me," she finished, seeming glad to be done with her story. "What were _you_ doing out in the woods?"

After he had recounted the events with Milah, (but skirting around the part where he fled like a coward and left her to die) Rumple said, "I supposed that I would head for the north coast. Everyone seemed to think it would be safer there. I need to find my boy, and I thought that perhaps I might seek also my old home."

Mary Margaret shrugged. "Well, as I said, I don't know about Avonlea. Appleton was still protected when I left--" 

"Thanks to you," interjected David, and Mary Margaret gave him a wan smile. "So perhaps your son is alright, if he's made it that far north. We heard that there is a group of survivors who made it to one of the islands off the coast. The wraiths cannot swim, and so that might indeed be the best option. David and I were headed that way ourselves, we just had a bit of a detour thanks to a group of infected. They sometimes travel in large swarms, and those you really have to avoid, if you can. One or two are easy enough to kill, but not ten at once." She reached out and rested a hand atop Rumplestiltskin's. "You should come with us."

Much as Rumple wanted to accept the generous offer, he knew that he could not. He shook his head, unwilling to be a burden to the young couple. He would never be able to forgive himself if he was responsible for their deaths as well. "I'm a cripple," he stated matter-of-factly. "I would only slow you down. Don't worry about me, I'll make my way."

Mary Margaret opened her mouth, as if to protest, but then David gave her a long look and she closed it, seeming resigned. "All right, then, if that is your wish. But you must take some food and water. And this," she said, reaching into a small satchel and pulling out a knife in a leather sheath. She handed it to Rumple. "You must have a weapon. This will do for now. The wraiths' heads are the only vulnerable part of them. Try to injure the eyes or the skull. Good luck, Rumplestiltskin. May the gods be with you."


	3. Chapter 3

Belle realized that she had read the same sentence over at least seven times, and closed the book with a sigh. Her mind was so scattered that she couldn't even enjoy one of her favorite stories. There was a perpetual knot of worry in her stomach. Her friend Mary Margaret had been turned out of the house for trying to protect them, Gaston had never returned after departing with a group to hunt the wraiths, and she hadn't heard from her father in over a month's time. 

Truthfully, though, Belle wasn't as worried about Gaston as a wife should be. Their marriage had been arranged; she didn't have any say in it, and their relationship, while amicable, was not the warmest. She certainly did not _love_ him. 

Once, Belle had believed in the idea of true love, but she had been young and naive then. She couldn't afford to be naive anymore. She sighed as she got to her feet and set the book back on the shelf. When she had first arrived at Appleton, the library had quickly become her favorite place. It was far larger than the one at Avonlea, and here she had access to a more diverse collection. Her father had been very strict about what she was allowed to read and had removed any books that he'd considered inappropriate. Since moving to the home of her husband's relatives, she'd discovered a love for romances, they offered her a much-needed escape.

Things had been relatively happy then, Belle supposed, or at least _pleasant_. She took walks through the gardens with Mary Margaret, worked on sewing and needlepoint and painting, and read, of course. There was a near-constant stream of visitors, and Lady Regina was always throwing lavish parties with splendid food, music, and dancing. Plenty to keep her occupied. 

But then the strangeness had begun, very quickly. The stories that had once been scoffed at over the long dinner table were now a dark reality. The parties grew smaller and more infrequent, and then stopped altogether. Visitors ceased calling. 

Belle didn't know what to think of the whole matter. During one of his last visits, her father had claimed that the 'wraiths', as they were commonly described, were demons, a punishment because mankind had not been faithful and good enough. Regina had rolled her eyes at this and taken a large sip of wine. Later, after Maurice had departed, Belle had asked her what she thought it was. 

"It's a sickness, nothing more," she'd said, with what Belle supposed was Regina's idea of a reassuring smile. "Plagues have been around since the beginning of time, and superstitious people and clergymen alike have always tried to find some...mystical meaning in it."

This had seemed reasonable at the time, and yet doubt grew in Belle's mind once she saw them. They did indeed looks like wraiths, or ghouls, some creature from a horror novel. She had seen sickness, her own mother had died of the consumption and toward the end of her life she hadn't resembled herself, but this was something entirely different. 

Then, after the terrifying incident with Daniel, the groundskeeper, whatever light that remained at Appleton began to go out. Mary Margaret, who had always been a close companion, was banished, and Regina hardened, becoming someone that Belle didn't recognize. She dressed all in black, perpetual mourning clothes, and drew the curtains heavily down around the windows, blocking out the world.

Belle was not allowed to leave the house for any reason, and Regina, who grew more paranoid by the day, had even assigned a guard to her. She didn't mind Graham, he was quiet and didn't bother her, but she still disliked being followed everywhere. Regina insisted that it was for her own protection, but it just reminded Belle of her childhood and her overbearing father. At least back then she'd had Rumplestiltskin. A smile still crossed her face whenever she thought of the days they'd spent together. He'd been her best friend, never failing to cheer her, to offer kind words of support or advice. His presence bolstered her spirit, made her feel strong. 

Eventually, as she grew, Belle realized that she loved him. His expressive eyes, soft floppy mane of brown hair, the little smiles that seemed reserved only for her. She'd wanted the two of them to be together forever, for those halcyon days to last, but reality had put an end to all that. For so long, she'd been angry at Rumple--well, more heartbroken than angry--for not keeping his promise to run away with her if she were forced to marry. 

Now that she was older, she understood why he had refused her. His station in life simply did not allow them the ability to be together, it was not because he hadn't cared. And really, it could have been worse. Gaston wasn't cruel; in fact, the two spent very little time together. He'd never even taken her to the marriage bed: they'd slept in separate rooms since the wedding, and a brief kiss on the forehead was the extent of his physical affection towards her, for which Belle was quite grateful. She hadn't been looking forward to that aspect of being a wife, and she felt no desire for Gaston. Still he was her husband and he had not been unkind and Belle felt that she should be more upset about the fact that he was quite probably dead, or had been infected and transformed into a wraith. 

In truth, the one person who she had been worrying about more than anyone in these cursed, lonely times was Rumplestiltskin. She hadn't heard from him in years, yet scarcely had a day gone by that she didn't wonder where he was, if he was happy. The thought of any harm coming to him filled her with a cold dread and she prayed that by some miracle they might see one another again.

 

X

 

Rumplestiltskin was realistic. He knew that he didn't stand much of a chance on his own. But he was also stubborn, and supposed that counted for something. It was getting colder in the forest, and the stiffness in his ankle was beginning to seriously impede his movements even worse than before. He hadn't seen any trace of a carriage, or another living soul since he'd parted ways with David and Mary Margaret. It was as if all civilization was crumbling, sending them back to primitive, haunted days. 

Casting a glance around at the dense wood, Rumple realized with dismay that he recognized his surroundings: though he'd been walking for hours, he'd simply gone round in a circle. Then he entertained an unhappier thought: even if he made it out of the forest and to the coastline, he had nothing to offer in exchange for passage on a ship--if there were any remaining ships, that is. He doubted he could complete the journey on foot. Still, thoughts of Bae, and of Belle, kept his weary, aching feet moving a few more paces and then he paused, leaning heavily on his walking stick, allowing himself to hang his head in a moment of self-pity. 

"You should be careful," came a sudden voice, and Rumple jerked his head up to see who had spoken. A figure stood there in front of him, having appeared seemingly out of nowhere, face hidden by a hooded cloak. 

"Aye," he replied cautiously. "As should you."

"Oh, I don't have to worry about the plague," the figure said with a low chuckle. It sounded male, but its face was still hidden thanks to the hood and the shadows of the evening. "I have discovered an immunity."

Rumple stared warily. "An immunity," he repeated. "You mean, like a cure? So it is just a sickness, then?"

He could swear that it smiled. "It is a disease, but like none this world has ever seen before. Thankfully, I carry a weapon that renders the wraith-bites useless." The stranger held out a hand and, perhaps against his better judgement, Rumple moved forward. There was something about this person that he didn't trust. 

"Go on," it encouraged. "Take a look."

Sitting in the palm of its hand was a long dagger with something inscribed on the blade. Curiosity overcame Rumple, and he picked it up, feeling the weight of it in his fingers. "I don't understand," he said. "How does this stop the effects of the bite? It's just a dagger."

"It's no ordinary dagger. It's be-spelled. With powerful magic."

"Magic?" Rumple raised an eyebrow. "There's no such thing."

"But there is," the stranger said. "And this world sorely needs it now, don't you agree? That dagger would give you power unlike you've ever dreamed of. Any physical infirmity would disappear," it nodded toward Rumple's walking stick, "you would be strong, capable of fighting this enemy. It would make you able to be...a hero."

Perhaps it was because he was so tired, so desperate, but Rumple found himself actually considering the stranger's words, rather than walking away as he should have done. Magic? This person was clearly out to take advantage of some poor soul, offering an ordinary dagger for what he was sure would be an exorbitant price. Rumple was many things, but he wasn't a fool. "Well, I'm afraid you're wasting your time, sir, I haven't any money--"

At that precise moment, the figure stepped forward and pushed back its hood, giving Rumple a clear view. He reared back at the sight. It was....a demon. That was the only word that came to mind. It had wide, almost reptilian dark eyes, and skin that was a freakish gold-green hue, covered in what looked like scales. It grinned at him, exposing a mouthful of sharp, crooked teeth. Instinct simply took over at that point, and before Rumple even realized what he was doing, his hand shot out, still clutching the dagger. The jagged blade drove deep into the creature's chest. It began to laugh. 

Stunned, Rumple fell back, bringing the dagger with him.

"I knew it would be you." The demon laughed harder. "I could feel your desperation."

Looking down at the blade, near-frozen with shock, he saw that the writing on it had changed. Now, his name was printed there, in sharp calligraphy. "What is this?" he managed. "What have you done?"

"I've done you a favor, really," it rasped, collapsing to its knees. "Now, you have nothing to fear from the wraiths. You are a darkness so much vaster than them."

Smoke and a sudden flashing of light rose up and then the demon was gone, leaving Rumplestiltskin alone in the woods once more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The origins of the plague are revealed, and Rumple comes to grips with his new reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry it took so awfully long for me to update! Here is the next chap for you, please let me know how you like it!

The origin of the plague was a complex jumble, as origins often are, not really one thing or the other. Certainly, though, it began with the usual troubles: obsession and love.

One night, in a towering and lonely manor atop a hillside, a equally lonely man sat at a desk, pouring over a series of anatomical drawings. The moon seemed uncommonly large that night, draping ghostly shadows over the land. It was a night ripe for nightmares, which often tormented the man. He staved off sleep this night by going over his notes, but every so often he was disturbed by the nearby drawn-out howling of a wolf. He was already in ill-temper, and so he jumped up abruptly from his chair, pulling on his long grey overcoat and grabbing a rifle. His breath showed in the air once he was outside, the night was colder than he'd expected. 

The howling grew closer and then the beast showed itself. It was much larger than an ordinary wolf; it was a massive thing with thick, dark fur and eyes that nearly glowed. He backed up and it spotted him, snarling and snapping, and then he fired instinctively, hitting the wolf. It fell to the ground with a whimper and then a strange shadow passed over it. 

He watched in disbelief as its shape changed in the pale light, limbs altering, fur receding, until there was no wolf at all, only a naked, dark-haired young woman. Heart hammering wildly against his ribs, drenching him in panic and adrenaline, he wrapped her in his coat and carried her back to the mansion, where he removed the bullet from her shoulder and stitched and dressed the wound with shaking hands. 

The girl remained blessedly unconscious through this, and then awoke hours later, skittish and frightened, nearly falling out of bed, the thin robe he'd draped over her loosening with the motion, exposing her breasts in the struggle. 

He finally calmed her enough to explain that he was, in fact, a doctor who'd accidentally injured her. 

"No!" she cried, shaking her head, hysteria once again rising in her voice. "I have to get out of here! I'll change, I'll hurt you, I'll rip you apart!" 

Tears began to flow and he tried to comfort her while averting his eyes. The girl finally realized that she was naked and drew the robe firmly around herself. Falling silent, she looked up at him with big, tear filled eyes, and he stared back at her with something like awe, and it startled her. 

"My name is Victor," he offered. "What's yours?"

"Ruby," she whispered.

 

Ruby finally divulged the nature of her strange condition, as best she was able, and Victor was intrigued beyond measure. Perhaps he could learn from her, and then help Ruby and others of her kind, if there were any. But first, he had to convince her to stay. 

Once she had eaten something and gotten back a bit of her strength, he tried to gain as much insight into her affliction as he could. She blacked out during her changes, he learned, having no memory of what occurred during that time. It had been this way since she was a child, happening every month when the moon was full. 

"Why, I wonder, did you change back when I shot you, though the moon was still out?" he asked. Ruby licked her dry lips and sighed tiredly, having been worn down by Victor's endless questions. He blinked and then hurried to pour her some more water. "My apologies! Here...forgive me, I'm...I confess I'm a little....scattered at the moment." 

She took a long swallow. "Perhaps my body reverted to its natural form out of self defense. I don't know. It's never happened before."

He nodded. "Perhaps. We shall see."

Ruby glanced at him in alarm. "You're not going to _shoot_ me again, are you?" 

"Certainly not!" Victor said, aghast. "I simply want to observe your changes so that I can help you!"

"You want to _study_ me," she corrected. "Because I'm a monster."

"You're not a monster. You are a...lovely woman with a very unique affliction. A puzzle, just waiting to be solved."

Ruby narrowed her eyes. "I'm cursed. Soon you'll see that. You should let me go."

"Lady, I am a physician," Victor said with a lopsided smile. "A man of science. Curses are not real. Curse, monster--these are archaic words from a time when superstition ruled over knowledge. You are as much a product of this world as me, or as a tree or a fish. Yet you are also a marvel of nature, just awaiting discovery." 

Convincing Ruby was not easy at first for Victor, she was understandably wary of him and still wanted to leave. And so, in the beginning of their time together, the doctor resorted to some methods that were perhaps not the most ethical in order to keep her with him. He built a cage, making sure to have it ready by the time of the next full moon. He drugged Ruby to make her docile and kept her contained during her transformations, studying and observing them. When it was over and she was human again, she begged him to let her go. "You're wasting your time and you're putting yourself in danger! You don't understand, I could kill you! You can't help me!"

Eventually, through much cajoling, Victor managed to convince Ruby that he was trying to offer her some hope, but scientific advancements never came without sacrifice.

"Let me help you, trust me," he said, over and over again and eventually she grudgingly agreed to stay, allowing him to draw blood and run tests on the condition that he promise not to drug her anymore. He accepted this, and their relationship slowly and tentatively evolved into something different than that of captor and captive, doctor and patient. Victor began to feel something other than the restlessness that had always consumed him. As months passed he realized that he was falling in love with her. He doubted that Ruby felt the same, though certain actions and words on her part made him wonder, gave him a strange inkling of hope. Until he woke one morning with a pounding headache inside her cage and realized that she was gone. The night before was a blur of Scotch and lust and that terrible _hope_ , but it had been for naught. He should have seen it coming. 

Still, he had his work, and Ruby kept haunting his dreams, though she was a welcome change from his usual nightmares. He would do this for her, he would succeed. And then perhaps, one day, she would come back again and he would heal her and she would stay for good. 

One moonless night, some time later, Victor had a breakthrough. One of the serums that he was developing as a possible antidote to Ruby's lycanthropy caused a very curious reaction in some mice. 

At first, Victor had thought it had killed them, but after a short while, they got up again. Yet there were side effects. The mice were stronger, more aggressive, wild. Still, he was making progress and refused to stop. If he could work out the problems, tamper the aggression, then perhaps he had inadvertently discovered the key to a problem that he had spent years obsessing over, before Ruby had come into his life and distracted his attention. 

Unfortunately, his assistant Igor was bitten by one of the mice. He fell ill, but insisted on going into the village for needed supplies; he was, after all, a dutiful servant. Igor had collapsed in the middle of the square, apparently dead from a violent fever. Yet only moments after he'd dropped he got to his feet, changed, it was said by onlookers, into some sort of demon that went about attacking the villagers, biting them like an animal. Eventually he was killed when a particularly brave young man drove a pitchfork into his skull. But the damage had been done. Just as Igor had succumbed, so did all those that he had bitten and soon the entire village had been felled by the new plague. 

 

X

 

Ruby had been with Victor for many months, essentially a captive, though at times a willing one. She spent her days and nights experiencing a whirl of emotion, feeling often both relieved and afraid, for though she was caged, at least she could not harm anyone--the bars were strong, and she warned Victor to never get too close. 

Also, she had begun to feel for the man , she could sense a deep sadness in him. They were almost friends, or at least almost _something_. An odd electricity existed between them, and she could often smell a heat simmering from Victor's skin when they were close, a scent that was dark and aroused, and Ruby couldn't help but respond a little. She allowed herself, at times, to be swayed by the charismatic doctor with the soulful eyes, especially when he acted so entranced by her, so devoted, when he called her his precious gem, but then the more pragmatic side of her warned not to trust: Victor did not care for her, she reminded herself, only for her affliction and what it offered him. He wanted to further his science, his career, to make a name for himself. He was simply using her to make that happen. 

Often on the nights he drank he'd tell her about his father and brother and mother--all dead--and about his past projects and his primary goal: to create life everlasting.

"Who would want that?" Wondered Ruby. "It sounds dreadful." She shuddered. "Death should be death; you mustn't toy with things like that."

He grew moody and sullen after that, as he was wont to do, pouting like a little boy who'd gotten his feelings hurt. "I didn't mean to offend you," Ruby offered, and this sounded a bit ridiculous considering that she was in a cage at that precise moment. 

His expression softened. "It's alright. It's not something that is easily understood, at first. Perhaps one day, you will see the value in it." And then he looked down at his pocket watch and then at the fading light outside the window. The moon would soon be up.

X

Four moons, nearly five, she spent with Victor, infuriated and fascinated by him, compassion fluidly blending with unexpected lust, and it had become too much. Ruby knew that she needed to leave. And so, she formulated a plan. Since she was always caged at night, from the edge of her bed inside she engaged him in conversation as she often did, but this time perhaps she batted her eyelashes, licked her lips, and behaved a bit more coquettishly than usual. Victor kept pouring drinks for himself, trying to drown away a day of failed experiments, and eventually she got him to unlock the door. 

"If you won't let me out, then at least come in and sit with me?" she pleaded, holding out her hand.

He did, swaying a little as he settled himself beside her, and soon his eyelids fell closed. Ruby took the glass tumbler from the doctor's hands and observed him for a long moment. In sleep, his face was even more boyish; vulnerable. His bottom lip was adorably crooked, and for one half-mad moment she contemplated pressing a kiss there. Instead, she drained the remainder of the Scotch, wincing at the velvety burn, and then slipped away, out of the manor and into the night. 

She made her way across the countryside, working here and there at odd jobs at various inns and taverns, went back to fearing and hating herself, dreading the moon, and at times she longed for the cage, for Victor and his science, because he had made her feel safe, if only for a little while. 

She met a strange man with a hat who sold blends of tea and gave her work picking herbs and helping him at his stand at market. This man, Jefferson, was prone to odd pronouncements, but otherwise was good company, and Ruby was saddened when he moved on and they parted ways. But by this time, something was happening. A plague was spreading. The moment she saw them, the wraiths, she knew that the rumors of monsters and demons were true. After all, wasn't she a monster herself? 

Yet a sinking knowing chilled her: she was certain that the doctor in the dark house on the hillside had something to do with it all.

Though Ruby had not seen her grandmother in nearly a year, she put the past side and traveled to her home to make sure that she was safe. She still had the shotgun that she'd stolen from Victor when she left, and was grateful for it--she'd needed to use it more than once. Granny's cottage looked ordinary from the outside, and Ruby felt a wave of homesickness. She swiftly approached and rapped on the door.

"Granny?" she called. There was no answer, but her advanced hearing could detect strange rustling sounds from within. A fetid smell invaded her nostrils and a cold fear lanced her heart. She gave the knob a turn and the door creaked open. Ruby's hand flew to her mouth as she felt the hope leave her. There was her granny, in her shawl and dress as always--but it wasn't really her. It was one of Them--gnashing, drooling, dead-alive. 

Tears pricked at Ruby's eyes, the hand holding the rifle shook as she raised it. Granny stood and lurched forward, hand outstretched like a claw. "I'm so sorry," Ruby whispered, forcing her hand to steady, aim, and pull the trigger.

Numb and cold, small and so alone beneath the sky, she made her way through the forest again. At first she didn't even realize where she was going, she was simply moving, through day and night, one tired foot in front of the other, until one frigid evening when the sky was an eerie purple-red, she reached a familiar clearing and looked up to see a dark mansion silhouetted against the last bloody vestiges of the sunset. Destiny was always leading her there. 

Ruby slipped inside easily, through a door in the rear servants entrance. The house seemed to have fallen into disarray, the hallways were longer and sadder than she remembered, the shadows wider. A barrage of familiar smells hit her nostrils, antiseptic and medical, electricity and gauze, and then beneath and beyond it, a warm scent: spice soaked through with Scotch and bad dreams. Victor. 

It wasn't hard to find him. He was, essentially, where she had left him, that same room, sitting by the window. The door to her cage was open, all of her things still inside, the blankets and pillows and books and drawing paper that he'd given her. Victor turned, drink in his hand. His huge blue eyes were full of shadows, he looked drawn and pale. Ruby raised the gun, then lowered it again. The tears that had been lodged inside of her chest for days threatened to pour.

"Ruby," he said, as if he wasn't at all surprised, as if he'd been waiting for her, "you've come back to me."

"It was you, wasn't it?" She said, her voice cracking. "You did this."

He nodded, a slow pained motion.

"Tell me how."

 

X

 

Monsters were real, and they dwelled alongside something ancient, too old to have an origin story. Rumplestiltskin knew this now, he had become acquainted with this ancient thing: it was a strong and heavy darkness worming its way around his insides, carving out a place, wrapping around his ribs. 

There was a Voice, too. It sounded like his, but different--a sinister whisper, pulling forth every hate, every hurt feeling and slight from his past, every dark dream. The warmth was being leeched out. Then the sight came. Whatever this thing, the Darkness and the Voice, it was there and realer than anything Rumple had ever known. It knew things, and now so did he--he could sense the creatures that everyone feared so, could see how pathetic and weak they really were--though not as weak as humans. 

When had he stopped seeing himself as human? Rumple was so disoriented. How long had he been here? Sense would return briefly, like sun falling down between thick leaves, but then the darkness would take over again and he wouldn't wonder any longer. The monster inside his bones sifted through all of his memories, through his soul, looking for things, like it was unpacking the contents of an old trunk. Even the forest looked different, older, pulsing with stories, with energy that was bright like faery lights. 

The wraiths were an accident, they had been created, essentially, and yet they carried in them the mark of older magic. It was curious, and Rumple was intrigued. The shadow continued to speak to him, instructing him with floods of knowledge. At first, he was revolted by this invasion, this possession. But the power! He could feel it coursing through his blood, simmering in every cell. Finally, he was _strong_. He was worthy. 

The Darkness, while peering into his soul, had seen the things that he treasured most. It rubbed its hands together and cackled with high-pitched glee. The strange sound sliced through the quiet of the forest and Rumple realized that it was his voice, now. He paused a moment to think.

_The sea. The coast. We shall go there, to those huge manors with their fine lords and ladies, frightened witless! We shall demonstrate our power and they will fall and kiss our boots, begging us for aid! And then--_

It paused in its manic chattering, still sifting and searching through his memories with its dark, greedy saucer-eyes. "Oh yes! Pretty things!" Its fingernails clicked together. 

No, Rumplestiltskin realized, looking down with sinking terror and delight both. Not It. Not We. I. I am. His head swam. Visions of Belle flooded his mind, all her sweetness and beauty. Rumple realized that he could have her now--there was a chance with this new life, he could have everything that had been denied to him by cruel circumstance. He could be a hero to his son and Lady Annabelle alike. The whole land, every kingdom would look to him to be their savior. He smiled, and moved in the direction of the sea.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I know its been a very long time since I updated this story, sorry about that! Hopefully I'll be able to publish more regularly from now on! Hope you enjoy this next chapter :)

Belle woke with a start after a most peculiar dream. She blinked and tried to collect the pieces of it in her mind, to pull them into a coherent layout. What struck her was the _feeling_ : it had been a very tactile dream. She'd been surrounded by a presence—one that was familiar and somehow not. With this presence came an accompanying scent like dark woods and rich amber and something else, sticky-sweet pungent, reminding her of incense smoke. A hand, grazing her skin. The flesh was strangely colored, a shimmery, mottled green-gold. Rather than being frightened or repulsed by this touch, Belle was fascinated. Again, there was a familiarity. A closeness. The hand touched her face, warmer than expected. A faint graze of sharp nail along the soft skin of her cheek made her shiver from head to toe, and an inexplicable heat pooled in her lower belly. She found herself leaning in, craving more of that touch. A noise filled her ears, a chuckle, voice oddly high. 

The hand trailed down to her neck, and Belle could feel her heart pounding. She knew that she should be frightened, but it wasn’t fear, no; with a deliberate slowness the hand continued its descent until it rested gently right above her breasts. The sudden desire that she felt was startling. A sigh escaped her lips and a tingling flush bloomed across her skin. That intoxicating scent grew stronger, swirling around her like a cloud—and then she’d woken. Her skin still tingled, particularly—she realized with some embarrassment—between her legs. It was puzzling, her apparent level of arousal from the odd dream. That hand. Belle shivered again, and it had nothing to do with the draft in her room. Casting her eyes toward the window, she saw the overcast sky that threatened rain. She fought back a groan at the sight. Another day of gloom and anxiety, of being locked indoors and followed everywhere. She flopped back down onto the pillows with a dejected huff. What was the point of even getting out of bed at all, she wondered. Allowing herself a few moments of sulking, she closed her eyes again, hoping to summon some vestige of her dream. 

 

X

 

That dark, ancient haze continued to worm its way into the corners of Rumplestiltskin’s mind—it was changing him, altering his form and consciousness until he barely recognized his thoughts as his own. There was a sharp meanness to whatever it was that lived inside of him now, a kind of plotting hunger that was difficult to describe. It just _wanted_ , was driven to clutch and consume. It wanted strength, power, control: it wanted to be _begged_. Rumple smiled with dry lips, sniffed the air. Salt, in the distance, the tang of the sea. His hearing was now far more acute than ever before and the screech of gulls met his ears, and beyond that still the faint lapping of the water. Originally, this had been his destination, and he was so close and yet...something kept him away, kept him wandering in the woods. He didn’t know how long he’d been walking or how many times the sun had risen and set. Time dissolved beneath the haze. He was amazed that he hadn’t tired yet. Some rational scrap of his old self that remained made Rumple pause. He sank down and sat by the trunk of a tree, leaning against the rough bark and closing his eyes. Not sleeping, just…drifting, almost meditatively. He let scenes swirl against the darkness that bathed the interior of his skull. He wondered just how much his senses had been heightened. As if to test this he reached out, seeking, casting out the tendrils of his blackening soul. 

That desire again overtook him, and suddenly it was as if he’d been flung through space—but then he could see _her_. Just for a brief moment, but she was there. _Belle_. She was asleep, seeming tiny in the large bed, alone. She was older than the last time he’d laid eyes on her, naturally, and she was even more lovely now. Something twisted in his core. He’d loved her, and he knew beyond a doubt that he still loved her, more than ever—the surviving shreds of his former self panged with how much he missed her, and then the dark chuckling Other smiled in delight, a smile that felt dangerous tugging at his lips. It was a starved smile, and the emptiness inside him cried out _mine!_ It reached for her as she lay in repose, her eyes closed, her skin soft, pink, vulnerable. Her lips were slightly parted as her chest rose and fell with her breathing. Rumplestiltskin was unable to stop himself as his fingers reached out and rested against her cheek with deceptive gentleness. Sudden horror washed coldly through him as he realized how grotesque his flesh looked—scaly and metallic, an ugly dirty gold color. He stuffed down his revulsion and focused solely on that _want_ that was pounding through his blood as he allowed himself to touch her. With this touch came rage, rage that they’d taken her from him, given her to another. She should have been his! Rumple was swarmed with an abrupt hatred for Maurice, for Gaston and Regina, for everything and everyone that had divided them. He had to have her. 

Rumplestiltskin opened his eyes and got to his feet, blinking as if trying to clear his head. He moved—blindly, almost manically—beset upon by some acute restlessness. Thoughts raced through his brain: _she’ll fear you. She’ll take one look at you and scream, she’ll be disgusted_. She would. And Baelfire, too. Even if he managed to find his son, the boy would recoil in terror at what his father had become. Rumple forced himself to slow his pace, to calm the barrage of dizzying thoughts, this last fearful tango between his old self and the darkness pressing in. The Darkness was undoubtedly winning, swallowing him whole. Looking down at the scaly, gold-flecked palms of his hands, he saw that they were sparking with little bursts of energy. It raced along his skin, searching for an escape. With a cry, he swept his hand through the air, then felt a tremendous surge of heat erupt from his fingertips and a small ball of flame was tossed into the air. A weird laugh escaped his throat as he watched it catch on some dry twigs and leaves, the fire climbing. The anxiety and self-loathing abated, pushed into some far corner of his mind where they rested like shadows on a floor, and were silent. In their place came a charge of exhilaration, of power. He would have his way.

 

He began to test his new abilities, and the more Rumple discovered, the more delighted he became, and the more the greedy _want_ inside of him spread and grew. He found, through some experimentation, that he could travel over distances simply by willing himself to do so. It was a bit jarring and disorienting the first few times, but he got used to it. A weird, nasty impulse prickled at his mind and he closed his eyes and willed himself to Avonlea. When he opened them he was there, on the grounds of his former home. The once beautiful estate was in utter disrepair, and he felt a mix of sorrow and unholy glee upon seeing it. The orchard had all but died, the branches gnarled and fruitless. The gardens were a wild jumble of weeds, and there was no longer a crisp and fruity scent to the air, rather it was a stench like old mulch and dead leaves, of infestation and rot. He spotted several wraiths, shuffling along, making their low growling sounds. They paid him no mind as he moved past. He reflexively touched the dagger that he kept close to his body at all times, the feeling of his fingers against the handle giving him an odd feeling of calm. Rumplestiltskin didn’t bother with doors, he simply projected himself inside. 

He heard a hacking cough and then a cry of “who’s there!” Following the voice he walked into Maurice’s study, his eyes lighting up upon seeing his former employer in such a wretched state. And wretched he was, seeming to have aged half a century, his skin a sickly, greying pale, hair thin and white and unkempt. He looked as though he hadn’t eaten or slept properly in months. He jumped upon seeing Rumple appear so suddenly. “Who…who are you?” he demanded. An unpleasant grin skittered across Rumplestiltskin’s face, and he watched a look of shocked recognition appear in Maurice’s eyes. “I know you,” he said, voice wavering a bit. “The stable boy…But…” He swallowed audibly. “What’s happened to you?”

“Let’s just say the years have not been entirely kind.”

“Aye. I daresay not.” Maurice spoke with caution. “Why have you come back?”

“Why, to visit my old home. I was feeling rather nostalgic.” That surge of nastiness rose in him again, and he made a tutting noise as he looked around. “How sad to see it in such ruin.”

“Evil times have befallen us. It is a punishment, for the wickedness of humanity. Hell has opened its gates.”

Rumple raised an eyebrow. “Has it now?”

Maurice kept peering at him with dread. “There’s a darkness around you,” he announced. “Why have you really come here? Are you another demon sent to torment me, to test my faith?”

“Torment,” Rumple repeated, licking his tongue around the word. He moved closer to Maurice’s chair, and the old man recoiled. “ _Torment_ is being separated from the one that you love. To watch her be given away as if she were property, her freedom stripped from her.” He found himself sneering. “I never liked you,” he told Maurice, as he crept closer still, “stodgy and holier-than-thou. She could have been happy!”

“What, with you?” Maurice let out a cough of uneasy laughter. He eyes narrowed in anger. “You were a servant—you were beneath her! It’s not my fault that I wanted what was best for my daughter.”

“You kept her locked up for her entire life, and then you sold her like cattle!” Rumplestiltskin hissed. “She didn’t have a choice!”

“She was my only child. I wanted to protect her. The world is a dangerous place, full of wickedness and sin.”

Tired of Maurice’s pious ramblings, Rumple decided to put a further scare into the old man. He opened his hand and conjured a flame. The master of Avonlea lurched back, his eyes wide, face gone even whiter.

“Sorcery!” he exclaimed. “You _are_ a demon. You’re just like them!”

Rumple pretended to be insulted by this comparison. “Oh no,” he corrected. “I’m not like them. They’re…” he wiggled his fingers, idly passing the ball of fire from one hand to the other, “an interesting accident. I am something else, something much darker. And I have power over them, you see. I can drive them away. If you but ask me, I could make them leave your land, return your home to its former grandeur.”

Maurice shook his head wildly. “I don’t make deals with devils,” he said. “I don’t know what evil has possessed you, but I want you to leave this instant!”

“Suit yourself,” Rumplestiltskin said with a shrug, extinguishing the flame. “Keep on with your prayers, then. Perhaps Lady Regina will be more receptive to my offer.”

The fear in the old man’s eyes deepened. “You stay away from Appleton! Stay away from my Annabelle!”

“Or what?” Rumple snarled, showing his teeth. “You’re a pathetic, cowardly old man. You want her safe, do you not? I have the power to make that happen.”

“Your power is from the darkness. It’s evil, I can sense it. You’re a monster. She may once have cared for you, when she was a child, but you’ve no hope now. May God have mercy on your pitiful soul.”

Curbing his desire to throttle Maurice, Rumple merely said, “We shall see,” and then vanished.

 

He seethed and brooded for a bit after his visit to Avonlea, trying to ignore the sinking feeling that Maurice might have been correct. But no, no—that doubt would do no good, it would only weaken him. He needed to focus. He needed to _plan_. Once again, he started to move. This time, he did not stop.

He made his way from village to village, manor to manor. He proved his power over the wraiths, ensuring the protection of lands and families—for a price. This price varied from person to person, he never asked the same thing of anyone, because no two people were exactly alike in what they truly valued. Desperate people were eager to make deals, and no matter how strange and unsavory he looked he was still better than a plague of the undead. Each time he made a deal he made sure that word of his abilities had spread, that they were talking of him in the next village, and the next. Soon, he reasoned, soon he would be worthy enough to have his son back. To have Belle.

He obsessed over her in the rare moments when he was still. The feeling was not entirely wholesome, rather it was a deep, pervasive desire that clenched and unclenched in his chest like a vise, strangling his ribs. Each time he used his power he grew stronger, and all of the human weakness was burned away like dry grass and old paper, and the Darkness was now his true identity. He hated and loved it, hated and _craved_. There were still those dreadful whispers in his skull, the black tar of dread pooling in his blood, keeping him awake, and in those moments it was _her_ face that kept him sane. He ached to go to her, but not yet. He wasn’t ready. So, he contented himself to visit her in dreams. This was yet another skill he had discovered. He never let her see his face, rather, he surrounded her like mist and shadow, wrapping around her warmth, listening to her beating heart. He touched her, his hand along her skin—and when he heard her breath catch and felt her pulse quicken a dreadful hope lit in him every time she didn’t pull away.

 

X

 

The days remained overcast as the nights chilled. Months passed and Appleton was still a prison for Belle. Gaston had not returned, nor had any other members of the group he’d departed with. In her heart, Belle knew for certain that he was dead, and she almost wished that she could feel the grief that a wife should feel at the loss of her husband. Instead, there was only a blankness. Her one comfort, besides books, was found in dreams. That mysterious presence continued to haunt her, and she found herself craving slumber just to be close to him. She never saw his face, but she felt his hands, searching over her skin, the touches becoming more intimate each time. It wasn’t entirely proper to be enjoying these dreams so much, Belle knew, but she couldn’t help it. Her life was otherwise empty. She’d assumed at first that the dreams were a way to cope with the constant loneliness that she felt in this place, but she was starting to realize that it might not be that simple. It seemed as though she was having nightly visitations rather than mere dreams. And whoever her visitor was, he seemed so very real: his shimmering, unnatural skin, the long fingernails (and she’d never admit it out loud, but the feeling of their sharpness excited her). She’d try to talk to him, to ask who he was and why he was visiting her, but he’d _ssshh_ and keep touching her, making her tremble and lose her wits in a way she never had before.

 

Off in the distance, a shot rang out. An icy drizzle tapped at the windows. Belle sat on a chair near the fireplace with a cup of tea. Regina, clad in her typical black attire, sat on the other side of the parlor, reading some correspondence which had arrived for her. This struck Belle as fairly unusual. Letters were rare and had all but stopped coming for months. Regina read one with a furrowed brow, then sighed. “Your father’s gone mad.”

Belle’s ears perked up and her stomach dipped in worry. “What? Has he written?”

“Indeed he has. Rattling on about how he was visited by a demon who can conjure fire.” She snorted. “He’s finally cracked. It was only a matter of time.”

Belle bristled a little at this. She and her father certainly had their differences, but she didn’t like to hear him so maligned. As if Regina had any room to talk.

“The stress and fear have worn him down,” she said in clipped tones. “It’s worn us all down.”

Regina hummed dismissively and continued opening the other letters. Belle watched as her expression changed yet again, into one of her many looks of disdain. 

“What does it say?” she asked. “Is everything all right?”

“These are the strangest…” Regina shook her head in confused irritation. “It’s from Contessa Nolan, she claims that the wraiths have been driven from their estate. According to her there’s not been one sighted in weeks.”

“But how is that possible?” asked Belle. “They’re everywhere! Just look outside.” As if in illustration of her point, another shot pierced the air. 

“This is the best part, she says that a man came, some sort of wizard. He has power over the creatures.”

Belle’s eyebrows shot up skeptically. This was definitely something she hadn’t heard before. She knew Contessa Nolan, and the woman was not usually prone to fanciful tales. “A wizard?” she repeated.

“That’s what it says.” Regina shrugged and took a sip from her wine goblet. 

“Does this…wizard have a name?” Belle pressed.

“Apparently, he’s called ‘The Dark One.’ Undoubtedly some sort of charlatan, preying on the desperate.”

“But…it worked.”

Regina made that scoffing sound that Belle hated, the one that suggested that she was some kind of idiot. “Perhaps one group of wraiths simply moved on. More will come in their place soon enough. A brief reprieve, not magic.”

Belle’s curious mind was still spinning. “And where did they find this man, this…Dark One?”

“They didn’t. He found them.”

“And did he want anything in exchange for driving the creatures away?”

“She doesn’t say.” Regina re-folded the letter and tucked it into her pocket. “Enough fiction for one day.” Getting to her feet, she picked up her goblet and walked away without another word. 

 

With unexpectedly trembling hands, Belle picked up the cup and took a sip of her tea, then gave a wince as she realized that it had gone cold. Setting it back down onto the saucer, she stood and wandered over to the window. Through the grey, chilly mist she could see the wet tree branches shivering and creaking back and forth, and in the distance there came a glimpse of the slow lurch of a wraith. Belle had now become so used to the sight of them that it rarely startled her anymore. What she wouldn’t give to have the freedom to walk out in the air without fear! Winter would soon be arriving. Perhaps the cold would freeze them, render them immobile. It was a weak hope, but a hope nonetheless. 

She thought about Contessa Nolan’s letter, that name ‘Dark One.’ Hearing it had sent a rather familiar shiver through her. She would do anything to be free from this awful house, from the constant despair that was slowly compressing her. Outside, the wraith was moving closer still, dragging itself along, and Belle felt no fear. Nothing frightened her any more except the thought of being trapped here forever. _Bang!_ Graham was a good shot, he never missed. She watched it tumble to the ground in a useless pile of rotted limbs. Regina was right, they would keep coming, keeping everyone a prisoner in their own home until they eventually went mad or starved. No. Not her. All of her life, Belle had allowed her fate to be decided for her, first by her father and now Regina. And she couldn’t allow it any longer. She closed her eyes. 

“Come find me, Dark One,” she whispered. “Set me free.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised I would update soon! I hope you like this chapter, please let me know! :)

As she had requested, Victor explained everything to Ruby about the fateful reaction that had been caused by his attempts to find a cure for her condition. He watched the look of horror that crossed her face, horror and guilt. Tears came to her beautiful eyes and he felt awful for causing her so much pain. 

“It’s my fault, then. All the people…my Granny…they all died because of me, because I’m cursed.” She glared up at Victor. “I told you. I warned you!”

“I was trying to help you! I’ve seen the pain that your affliction causes you. But it’s fascinating: the properties of your blood are like nothing I’ve ever seen before, and the applications—I was so close!” Victor moved closer to Ruby, trying to reason with her, and she backed away. Undaunted, he went on, “Cellular regeneration is possible, I see that now—”

“How can you talk like this!” she cried. “Look what you’ve done, what _we’ve_ done! I told you once, you mustn’t toy so callously with life and death. But you didn’t listen. You think yourself somehow above the natural law, the great and all-powerful Victor Frankenstein.” She spat his name with contempt and his soul stung upon seeing the pure loathing in her eyes. Loathing and sorrow and something else beneath it all. 

“You regenerated those people,” Ruby went on, “but look at the cost. That isn’t life, it’s an abomination! They walk and move but they have no soul—they seek only to feed and to spread the infection.”

Victor reached for her, and she pulled away sharply. “No! You…you don’t care about me. I’m just an experiment to you.” Ruby began to pace fitfully, fighting back tears. “I should never have stayed. This…this thing that I have, that I am, it’s _my_ burden to bear. And as much as I hate it,” she said, fixing him with a burning gaze that pained like a lash across his skin, “I would have gladly lived with it had I known what would happen.” She bit her lip. “There’s something evil inside of me.”

Unable to hold the anguish inside any longer, Ruby began to cry, hating herself for appearing so weak. “And we let it out into the world.”

Victor put his arms around her, and for a moment she lashed out, striking fiercely at him. He stood still, absorbing the blows from her fists until all of the anger went out of her and she crumpled against him, drinking in his so-familiar scent, furious at the way he still made her feel safe, even after all that he had done. “My Ruby,” he whispered, smoothing a hand over her hair. “If you indeed think me such a monster, why did you come back?”

Ruby blinked her eyes and more tears spilled down. “I had nowhere else to go.”

 

It was less than a fortnight until the next full moon, and a kind of resolve had settled inside of Ruby. She and Victor had created this plague, and they were damn well going to create a cure. But it would be on _her_ terms now. The first thing that she did was pour all the alcohol down the drain, every single bottle that she could find—and there were many. Naturally, this did not go over well. 

She’d never seen him so furious (or perhaps afraid). 

“I need you to be able to focus, you can’t do that if you’re half-drunk all the time,” she told him firmly.

“Did you come back just to punish me?” Victor demanded. “To constantly remind me of what a failure I am?”

Ruby stood her ground, folding her arms and narrowing her eyes. “We are going to make things right,” she told him. “After all I’ve sacrificed for you, and all I will continue to sacrifice, the least you can do is pull yourself together for me. Prove to me that you’re _not_ a failure, that you truly care.”

The next few days were very difficult; they both had perhaps underestimated the severity of his dependency. Victor shook and sweated, skin sickly pale, his pulse frighteningly rapid. He ranted and fell into a delirium during the worst of it, at times calling out for his dead brother, apologizing, begging for forgiveness. His state was so worrying that Ruby began to fear that she’d made a mistake. She lay beside him, holding him tight in her arms, and prayed to all the gods that she’d done the right thing. 

“My Ruby, please, please don’t leave me again,” Victor mumbled as she pressed a cold compress against his forehead. His blue eyes looked feverish and wild.

“Hush, I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here,” she assured him. “You’re nearly through the worst of it, just try to be calm.”

“You’ll never love me,” he murmured softly, closing his eyes.

“Hush,” she said again. 

 

 

Mercifully, Ruby had been right, and that was the worst of it. Victor’s sense returned, and he grew stronger. Soon he was up and walking around, the color beginning to return to his skin. One morning she woke and was worried when she couldn’t find him, then realized that he was at his desk, brow furrowed as he sifted through his notebooks.

His scent was so different now; cleaner. She barely recognized it.

“Good morning, doctor,” she greeted him with a smile.

 

Now it was less than three days to the full moon, and Ruby was restless. Victor recognized the signs of her impending transformation. She grew anxious and irritable, snapping about everything. 

“I’d like to take some blood from you,” he said.

“Why?” Ruby demanded. “Why now?”

“I would like to see if there’s any notable difference in the days leading up to the moon,” he explained calmly. “I’ve gotten blood from you in the hours before, and then after, but not—”

“Fine,” she relented sharply, rolling up her sleeve. 

As her blood filled the glass vial, Victor noted, “I wish that I could take a sample from the wolf.”

Ruby’s eyes widened, and her jaw set in a line. “Absolutely not.”

“I could use some kind of tranquilizer dart—”

“You don’t know that it would work. The wolf is strong, stronger than a normal creature.”

“But if I—”

“It’s too dangerous!” she cried. Then she calmed and said, in a softer tone, “I am willing to allow you to run nearly every test imaginable so that we might find a way to stop this plague. I will give you every last drop of my blood if I must while I am human, but I will not allow you to take any from the wolf. I do not give my consent to that. The last thing I need is to wake up and find that I’ve…” Ruby shook her head. “That would be the end of me.”

“All right,” Victor said soothingly. He pulled the needle from her arm, and she flinched. He pressed a small piece of cotton down on the bleeding puncture wound. With his other hand, he trailed his fingers along the sensitive skin on the underside of her arm. “All right.”

 

X

 

A day or so after she had called for the Dark One, Belle began to feel very tired. Soon an ache crawled through her head and a rawness developed in her chest. She excused herself from the dinner table early, and went to bed. Her dreams were a vague swirl of smoke, but she could not find her visitor anywhere. She woke in the morning with a miserable cough, and her condition only worsened as the hours passed. Her maid alerted Graham, who told Regina, who said that she would send immediately for a doctor. 

Belle tossed and turned, twisting in an effort to ease the aching in her bones, wrapping herself in blankets to stop her shivering and then throwing them off when she grew intolerably hot. Her throat roared. Anxiety churned in her stomach. She doubted that any physician would be brave enough to travel through wraith-infested countryside to see her. 

She continued to sicken; her fever climbed and her lungs began to make a strange rattling sound when she breathed. Belle fell in and out of sleep, searching for the scent and hands of her visitor. She tried to call out, but her mouth made no sound. Nightmares climbed the walls of her mind: she saw Regina, taller and more imposing, laughing wickedly, an evil smile curling on her red lips. Then Regina’s face faded and Belle found herself a young girl again, as she had been when she was truly happy. In the orchard, beneath a blue sky. A face, smiling at her, her heart warming at the sight. Her best friend, her love. Rumplestiltskin. Their fingers laced together, her head rested on his shoulder, and she wished that the moment would go on forever, because there she was _free_ , the world was open and wide and ripe with hope. But then darkness swept over the sky and right before her eyes the orchards died, the apples rotted and filled with worms. Rumple’s hand was wrenched from hers by an unseen force and then he was gone. 

Belle tried to scream, but her chest was too constricted. She was suddenly in a small room, locked inside— _always, she would always be locked inside, never to have sun and air on her face again_ —

She jerked awake, the morning-grey light spilling into her eyes. There would never be sun again, it seemed, but she needed to be outside. She couldn’t die locked away in here. Her head felt buzzy, strange, as she shambled out of the room on wobbly legs, finding an empty corridor. _The door! The door!_ She dragged herself down the stairs, through the main hall, and there it was: the door!

She needed to find him, to be where he was, to be freed from this cage at last. Before Belle even realized it she was outside of the house, cold rain on her feverish skin, icy-wet grass prickling beneath her feet. She kept walking, trying desperately to draw air into her aching lungs, each breath an agony. She could see them, the wraiths; closer and closer they moved—they’d seen her, caught her scent. It didn’t matter anymore. Her ears dimly registered the screaming of Regina’s voice from the doorway behind her, and Belle moved even more urgently forward. 

“I’m coming, Rumple,” she whispered deliriously. “I’m coming back.”

The wraith was closer now, hungry. It was almost fascinating how grotesque it was: she paused for a moment just to study its face, the skin falling off, the bones jutting clean through rotted cheek. But then, it was gone. Suddenly. Belle blinked. In its place stood a man. He was slight and thin, wearing dark clothing. Longish, wavy locks of hair framed his angular face…but…his _skin_. Gold skin, shimmery. Eyes wide, dark enormous pools, strange and almost reptilian—but she knew—she _knew_ those eyes. Somehow. He raised a hand, reaching for her. That _hand_ , the very same that caressed her in her dreams at night. Tapered fingers, long nails—it was him.

“What in hell are you doing?” he demanded.

Blackness rose up and swallowed both the man and the sky and the air and that was all Belle knew.


	7. Chapter 7

From the deck of his ship, Captain Killian Jones stared out over the horizon and frowned. “What is it?” asked Mr. Smee, his first mate.

“What have you heard about this island? The one where the survivors are supposedly gathering?”

Smee shrugged. “Nothing much. Just whispers at different ports.”

“Does it not strike you as odd that in all the time we’ve been in these waters, we’ve never caught sight of a single island? And there isn’t one down on any maps of this region.”

The small man simply shrugged again, and Killian figured that it would be more useful to discuss the matter with a plank of wood. 

“Perhaps it’s a hidden island,” piped up a young voice. Jones looked over to see Baelfire, the young boy that he’d picked up a few weeks prior. His mother Milah had been…a friend, and Killian had promised her that the boy would have a spot on his ship. He was supposed to be taking Baelfire to his family up the coast—the trouble was that they could no longer locate a safe place to dock. The wraiths were visible all over the shoreline, and Killian wasn’t going to chance it. Sooner or later, though, they would have to find a port to stop for provisions. Right now, however, they were essentially stalled. 

“A hidden island,” he repeated. “Like in a fairy tale? Such things don’t exist, my young friend. Where would it be hidden?” Jones waved his arm around. “These are open waters.”

“In the mists,” supplied the boy.

“What mists?” demanded the Captain. “It’s clear for miles. Probably just a rumor to give people hope of a safe haven.”

“But what if there is an island?” Baelfire pressed. He was a stubborn sort of child, Killian was realizing. “And what if my mother and papa are there?”

Jones didn’t have the heart to tell the boy that in all likelihood his parents were dead. He let him have his imagination, his hope. 

 

X

 

Belle was dimly aware of being carried into the house, laid on the bed. She could hear voices—Regina arguing with a man—the man who had appeared to her, saving her from the wraith. Then she felt a hand moving along her body. With the touch came immediate relief, the pain in her lungs abated and she could breathe without struggle again, the swimmy, feverish feeling retreated from her head and her limbs stopped aching. Limp with relief, she fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

Many hours must have passed, because when Belle woke again it was night. She felt normal, there was no trace of illness left in her body. It was some kind of miracle. Or perhaps sorcery. Had she truly summoned the Dark One?

“Hello, Dearie,” said a voice from the shadows and she sat up with a start. “Come closer,” she said, motioning to him as she pulled the candle on her night table over to her. “Come into the light.”

She thought that she heard him sigh, but then he did so, until he was standing beside her bed and in the flickering light Belle could see him. He was real, and she was sure that he was the man from her dream, the golden scales of skin, the wide eyes that should have frightened her but did not. Her brain scrambled to make connections. She knew him…and yet it couldn’t be. _How?_ Underneath the strange glamour, it was him, her childhood love. 

“Rumplestiltskin,” she breathed disbelievingly. “What’s happened to you?”

“I can scarcely begin to explain. Suffice it to say that I’m no longer the boy you knew at Avonlea.”

He wasn’t, that much was absolutely clear. Beyond the obvious physical transformation, there was something different in his voice, it had a strange edge to it, a weird, high, mocking sound that hadn’t been there before.

“I called for the Dark One. Are you him? Or is this all some kind of trick?” Belle drew the blanket up a little more tightly around herself.

“No trick, I’m afraid. I am the Dark One,” he said, giving a dramatic little bow. “At your service. And I am the only hope this land has.”

“So, you do have power over the wraiths?” Her mind whirred. “Are you truly a sorcerer?”

“Something like that.” Rumplestiltskin smiled, and it was an uncomfortable look. Belle reached out a hand to him, and he stepped back.

She frowned. “You must explain this to me, please—tell me everything. Where you’ve been all this time, how you came to be…as you are now.”

“I don’t need to explain anything,” he said, that edge creeping heavily into his voice. “You called, and I came. Just in the nick of time, I might add. What possessed you to do such a foolish thing?”

“I…” Belle’s voice faltered, then picked itself up again. “I didn’t want to die in a cage.”

Something softened in his eyes, then, and she could see more clearly the traces of the young man she had known.

“You don’t like staying at Appleton, I take it?”

She shook her head. “I hate it here,” she answered honestly.

The Dark One seemed to be considering something. “I’d like to offer you a deal, then.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What sort of a deal?”

“I will drive the wraiths from this land, and from your father’s land. They will be safe to come and go as they please, untroubled by the creatures. But in exchange, I would like you to come with me.”

“Come with you? Where?”

He waved a hand. “Why, wherever I am needed. This country is full of desperate souls.”

“And we’ll help them?”

“Of course,” he said, smiling once again in that way she didn’t trust. 

“And if I go with you, you will give me your word that my father and everyone here at Appleton will be safe?”

“You have my word.”

“Then…I’ll go.”

 

Regina was a bit shocked by the whole thing, and regarded the Dark One with caution, but he had managed to prove his abilities to her, and, skeptical as she was, she finally acknowledged that he spoke the truth.

“But Belle, are you absolutely certain that you want to go with this… _person_?” she asked, her face scrunching in distaste. Of course, she didn’t recognize him from Avonlea. This didn’t surprise Rumplestiltskin at all. Lady Regina never paid much attention to the help, unless she was bedding them. 

“I don’t know if I can allow that,” she went on, looking unusually conflicted. “What would your father think? And your husband?”

Belle drew herself up. “Forgive me, but it’s not for you to decide, or to allow. I’m a grown woman, and can make my own decisions. And Regina, you know as well as I that Gaston is not going to return.”

Regina stood silently for a moment, lips pursed in thought. “Very well,” she said. “I suppose I can’t stop you. I hope you’ve thought this through,” she added, with a sideways look at Rumple. 

“What do you want with her, anyway,” she asked, turning to face him directly. “I shudder to think.”

“It’s nothing so sordid as what you’re _shuddering_ about, I’m sure,” he said dryly. “I travel a good deal, as you know, and I’ve found myself quite busy lately, and in need of an assistant. The young lady was kind enough to offer her services in exchange for the safety of yours and her father’s estates. Just a simple business deal, really.” He studied his fingernails.

“Fine,” said Regina. “I need a drink.” She looked at Belle one more time, gave a shrug and then left the room.

Rumple smiled and held out his arm. “Come along then. We have work to do.”

 

 

He had managed to gain access to a horse and carriage. There was no driver, he’d enchanted both to move on their own. Animals, he’d learned, fell under his thrall with remarkable ease. He’d needed a more standard form of transport now that Belle was with him—he didn’t yet know if he could move another person by using his abilities, and he didn’t want to test it on her.

Rumpelstiltskin still couldn’t believe that he’d finally found her, that she’d come with him willingly. It made him nearly dizzy with glee. She wasn’t looking at him with disgust, just curiosity. And something else. It wasn’t pity, or sadness, but it was soft. 

Belle sat silently for awhile, watching the scenery go by outside the window. The tree branches were skeletons, now, the leaves were all underneath them, being ground into the mud. She had been cooped up in that house for so long, she'd missed whole seasons. Autumn had always been her favorite, and now it was practically over. The beautiful colors and crisp air had been swallowed by the encroaching winter. 

“Your…power,” she asked, finally breaking the quiet, “Where did it come from?”

Beneath the folds of Rumple's cloak, the dagger felt heavy. “It was an accident,” he said. “I didn’t seek it out, I stumbled across it. Wasn’t given a choice, really.”

She seemed to be turning this over in her mind. “Its…transformed you physically.”

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed. “I suppose I do repulse you, then.” He spoke tightly.

“No,” Belle hurried to say. “You don’t, it’s just…unusual, that’s all.”

She smoothed out her skirt and then folded her hands in her lap. She seemed to want to ask something else, her lips twitched with false starts.

“Yes, dearie?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I was just wondering…I’ve been having these dreams. Before I’d even heard of you, of the Dark One, I mean. I think that I was dreaming of you. I remember your eyes, your hands.”

“Do these dreams frighten you?”

She shook her head. “No, I wasn’t frightened. Just perhaps…unsettled.” He could see that she was blushing. Very interesting.

“A fascinating coincidence, I’m sure. I wouldn’t think too hard on it.”

Belle didn't necessarily believe that, but she didn't pursue the matter, instead moving on to another matter that had been nagging at her. “How do you do it?” She wondered. “Drive back the wraiths.”

“It’s relatively simple. I’m more powerful than them," explained Rumple. "I exert my will, and they leave.”

“But where do they _go_?”

He shrugged. “Someplace else. That’s hardly my concern.”

“So you haven’t stopped them, or cured them, you’ve simply blocked them from certain areas, and people. The people who give you something in return.” Her tone seemed a little too judgmental for The Dark One's liking.

“First of all, Dearie, they can’t be cured. They’re _dead_. They can be stopped, certainly, by gravely injuring or severing the head, as I’m sure you know, but I can’t stop all of them in one fell swoop. That’s beyond my powers, I’m afraid. I do what I am able, though not for free. These are not days for altruism. All things come with a price.”

“That is true,” she said flatly. “Do you know how this all began, how the wraiths came to be?”

He shook his head. “Alas, I do not. And it hardly matters.”

“It does matter,” she protested. “If we can learn their origins, perhaps we might—”

“Might what?” he interjected. “They’re already _here_. We know how the infection spreads. Their origin is irrelevant.”

“Perhaps. But I would still like to know.”

“Nothing to be done about it at the moment,” he said cheerfully, and she frowned, but kept silent.

 

Before departing to answer her call, Rumpelstiltskin had decided to cease wandering the woods like some sort of vagrant, and set up a more permanent residence, something more befitting to a sorcerer of renown. He had come across the ruins of an old castle on the edge of the forest and felt that it would do nicely. It had taken considerable concentration, but he had thrown a powerful enchantment over the whole structure, immediately rebuilding and restoring it to its former glory—with some improvements.

When the carriage pulled up and Belle saw the structure, aglow from within, looking dazzling in the night, her eyes widened. “It’s incredible! But how…” she turned to him. “I know this place. I’ve passed this way before. The castle was ancient, derelict.”

“Yes, I know,” he returned smugly.

Belle stared at her new home again, looking both impressed and wary. 

“Come along, you don’t want to catch cold,” Rumple said, waving her forward. She followed him up the stone path to the doors of the castle.

 

All of this sorcery struck Belle as strange and wrong, unnatural—and yet quite alluring. Magic was something for fairy tales, she’d always thought. And yet the laws regarding what was possible seemed to not be written in stone; walking, hungry corpses were proof of that.

The castle practically vibrated with a mysterious energy. She supposed it was the Dark One's power that she was sensing. It made her shiver. There was an edge to it that she didn’t trust, but still the ever-curious side of her wanted to learn more about it. Belle knew that there was so much that Rumple wasn’t telling her, and she could sense much sadness in him. Her love was still there, she believed, only hidden beneath the eldritch façade. 

Fires were roaring in the fireplaces and the wall sconces and candelabras had seemingly illuminated themselves. The castle was elegantly decorated, if a bit dark for her tastes. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked her. 

She was, famished, actually, having not been able to eat much during the time she’d been ill. 

Belle nodded. “Yes.”

“Follow me,” he said, motioning her along until they reached a large dining room. The long table was lit with candles and filled to brimming with all manner of dishes: fish and fowl, bread and potatoes, apples and pomegranates. Her mouth watered.

Rumplestiltskin pulled out a chair, gesturing for her to sit. Belle sank down into the velvet and watched as he then took a seat at the opposite end of the table. 

“Eat,” he said, after a moment. “You look pale.”

She helped herself to some roast pheasant and potatoes, staring down at them for a moment, the fork raised in her hand. Of course, this had all been created through magic. There didn’t seem to be anyone else here in the castle with them, no cooks or servants, only the phantom tendrils of energy that seemed to be climbing all over the walls. Was conjured food safe to eat? Belle recalled the warnings from old tales to never eat food in fairyland, lest you be trapped there forever. Though this wasn’t exactly fairyland, it was just as good as. Everything was upside down, and the man across from her seemed a dark imp; Hades holding out pomegranate seeds to Persephone.

But Belle’s hunger eventually won out, and she took a bite. It certainly tasted real—delicious, actually—and soon her plate was clear.

“You’re not eating anything?” she asked, looking over at where he sat, fingers steepled, simply watching her.

Rumple shook his head. “I find that I have to eat less and less to get by.”

Belle frowned. “That doesn’t seem right.”

“It’s much more convenient, I assure you.”

After a moment of silence, she wondered, “What happened after I left with Gaston? Did you stay at Avonlea?”

“Not for very long,” he answered. His eyes were watching the flames in the fireplace, and she could see the light reflected in the dark orbs of his eyes. “I left and tried to make my own way.”

“Was it difficult?”

“Aye,” he turned his head away from the fire and faced her directly. “I wasn’t of noble birth. Life is always difficult for mere… _peasants_.”

“I’m sorry,” Belle murmured, her face growing a little red.

“I don’t need your pity,” he spoke in chilly tones. Now she pursed her lips, looked down.

“I worked hard…I provided for my family.”

Her head snapped up at this, eyes widening. “Oh! So you…you married, then?"

“I did. I had a wife, and a son.”

Though Belle sensed she might be treading into sensitive territory, she pressed, “Where are they now, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“My wife is dead,” he said, a casual iciness coating the words. “She was killed by a wraith.”

“How awful,” Belle breathed, eyes softening with sympathy.

“Twas no great loss. She wasn’t exactly a kind woman.”

“Oh.” Belle toyed with the utensil in her hand, looking a little uncomfortable. “Well, what about your son?”

“He’s….before she died, my wife sent him up the coast. I don’t know where he is now.”

“Have you looked? I’m sure that with your powers you’d be able to…”

Rumpelstiltskin glared at her. “I didn’t bring you here to tell me my business,” he snapped. “I’ll find my son when I’m ready.”

Belle didn’t seem contrite, or fearful, just annoyed. “The way you found me?” she mumbled quietly.

“What was that?” 

She cleared her throat. “I said, the way you found me. Did you know where I was? Or was it mere coincidence that I should become so desperate as to call for the Dark One?”

“I always knew where you were,” he said, voice low and mean. “Ever since I saw you leave that day. With him. Tell me, did you love him?”

Eyes narrowed, Belle leaned forward. “You know I didn’t.”

Rumple shrugged. “Love can form, grow over time.”

“Not in this case. Gaston wasn’t cruel to me, and he provided, but no, I never loved him. I only ever loved one person. But I fear he’s gone, now.”

She stood, the motion sudden and agitated. “If you’ll excuse me,” she muttered, turning on her heels and leaving him alone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry this update was a couple months overdue. Let me know what you think! :)

One more day, and the moon would be full. Ruby’s moods swung back and forth between aggression and a sort of odd flirtation. As Victor worked at his desk, she was sprawled on the sofa, unladylike but not caring, reading something. It apparently amused her, because she was giggling every few minutes. Curious, he looked over and glimpsed the title. _Oh_. It was a volume about the treatment of Hysteria in women. Victor raised an eyebrow, and Ruby caught him staring at her. She grinned widely, showing a flash of sharp white teeth. 

“You doctors are so silly,” she announced, closing the book. She stretched her arms over her head and yawned. “Perhaps that’s what I’ve got, just a really extreme case of hysteria.” Her grin grew wider. “And to think,” she added, “so easily cured, too. All you have to do is _touch_ me.”

Victor’s skin was suddenly much too tight, his mouth too dry. “I don’t really…” he mumbled.

Ruby bounced up from the couch and got to her feet. “I’m just teasing, Doctor,” she said. “Honestly, it that were all it took, I’d have cured myself long ago.” 

He coughed, suddenly choking on nothing. Her eyes glittered. She moved closer until she was standing at the window beside his desk. “They’re gathering,” she noticed, the smile falling away from her face. 

Having recovered from his impromptu coughing fit, Victor got up and stood beside her. Outside, the grounds were swarming with wraiths, just milling about. “Why do they do that?” she asked.

“I have a theory,” he said. “They’re drawn by the moon, it affects them. I’m just not sure how.”

“Well, they don’t become _wolves_ , at any rate,” Ruby said, her mouth in a line. She turned and stalked around the room, pacing fitfully, animal-like. 

“I need to go check the side entrances again,” said Victor, watching her restless movements. “I’m worried about one of the doors. It’s older. If it were only a few of them, I wouldn’t worry, but a mob like that could break it down.”

Ruby stopped pacing. “Let me go with you,” she said. The doctor shook his head. “No, it’s too dangerous. The moon is nearly up, anyway, you should be in your cage.”

She scowled, but she knew he was right. Still, she had a bad feeling, some kind of intuition, and after he left, she quietly followed him. 

 

Thankfully, all the wraiths were gathered around the front for now. The wood of the door was somewhat rotted, would cave easily if hit with enough force. Hopefully while they were distracted he could seal it up. But he’d need supplies, nails, more wood. 

“What are you doing?” came her voice from behind him, and Victor jumped. 

“Ruby! I told you to stay put. Go back into the house.”

She narrowed her eyes, and in the dim light they seemed golden and feral. “I don’t want to sleep in the cage. The moon won’t be full until tomorrow.”

“Nothing wrong with being cautious, and if I recall, you were the one who decided that you should be in there starting the night before.”

“You just like having me contained.”

“Don’t start that again. You’re the one who’s so very concerned about what you might do.”

Ruby glared at him, then looked over at the door. “Leave it for tonight,” she said. “It’s been fine for this long. Besides, there’s another door at the end of the tunnel before the main house. We’ll be safe.”

“All right,” he finally agreed. “I need to go for more supplies tomorrow anyhow.”

“Can I come?” she asked hopefully. She hated when he left her alone with the dread that he might not return.

“No,” he said flatly. She scowled and followed along beside him. Once they were back in the house, safely behind a series of locking doors, Victor sighed. “Don’t be angry with me. I just worry about you.”

“Because you need me, for your research, I know.”

“ _Our_ research,” he corrected. He hated it when she got like this. “You’re just being difficult because you’re not yourself.”

Ruby knew he was right. Her emotions were in a riot, flitting from anger to lust to hunger, all in a strange swirl that left her entirely off-kilter. “I’m sorry,” she said, leaning closer to him, bringing her face by his neck, inhaling his scent. She liked it so much better now, it was almost intoxicating. 

“Ruby…” Victor warned in a low voice. 

“I know, I know,” she said, pulling away. “The cage.” She stepped inside and he locked the door. “If you’re that concerned, you should chain me to the wall as well.”

He swallowed hard. “That’s really not necessary.”

“ _Shame_ ,” she shot back.

“Goodnight, Ruby,” he said.

 

X

 

Belle hadn’t slept particularly well, she was still adjusting to the strange aura of the castle. She’d woken several times from dreams that had been dark and blood-red, full of shuffling corpses and choking vines, of seas gone scarlet, the water lapping at the shores of a dark island, the ash-colored sand littered with bones. She wondered about agreeing to come here, but then reminded herself that she owed it to Rumple to try and help him, to save him from whatever had taken root in his soul. 

A sad, strangling thought crossed her mind: if only they had been allowed to be together all those years ago, perhaps this would never have happened. Shaking the thought away, she climbed out of bed, determined to make the best of her new situation.

She made her way around the castle. Curiosity had gotten the better of her. The hallways seemed to go on for miles, there were hundreds of rooms, many that were locked, she noticed, and wondered what was behind them. Belle still had a sour feeling from her conversation with Rumple the previous evening. He had changed so. Something insidious had clearly gotten a hold of him, and she pondered over its exact nature. She was sure that there was much he wasn’t telling her. 

With a huff of exasperation, she came upon another door at the end of the hall. Yet to her surprise, it opened easily. Inside was a library of sorts; her eyes grew wide at the sight of tall shelves filled with old tomes. However, rather than the excitement that she usually felt upon seeing so many books, this room gave Belle a sense of unease. It had a heaviness that she didn’t trust, and it seemed that the very shadows were watching her with a mocking eye. Still, her curious nature won out. She moved further into the room, over to one of the shelves. The spines of the books seemed to crackle with energy—an unwholesome energy, to be sure, but palpable. It seemed silly, to be afraid of a book, Belle chided herself. She grabbed the volume and pulled it down. 

It was leather bound and looked very old, the front cover was embossed with strange gold symbols that she didn’t recognize. A breath hitched in her throat as she flipped it open. The pages inside were full of more of those symbols, but also writing. The parchment practically vibrated, radiating heat. It was a grimoire of some sort, Belle realized. She had heard of such forbidden tomes, filled with dark spells and arcane knowledge, but she had thought them to be mostly myth. She’d never seen anything like this before, there were lists of needed ingredients ranging from the unusual to the flat-out macabre: _squid ink, hair from a werewolf, powdered giant’s bones, the severed hand of a murderer_ …good gods, what was he dabbling in? Belle closed her eyes for a moment, her head spinning. She was coming to realize that magic did indeed exist, and not the way she expected it to. It wasn’t princesses and unicorns and dragons and True Love’s kiss, it was infinitely darker and hungrier.

She shivered a little. Part of her wanted to keep reading, despite her trepidations and the warning bells clanging in her head. She admitted to being morbidly curious, she had always believed that knowledge was not ever something to be feared, but this…

After hesitating for a moment, she snapped the book shut and left the room, pulling the door firmly closed behind her.

 

Rumple was nowhere to be found, so Belle fought boredom by doing some dusting and tidying up, making her way from one side of the castle to the other. She hadn’t done much exploring in the west wing, it seemed even older than the rest of the structure. It was more of the same endless hallways filled with doors, but it was much less well-lit, and there was a feeling of dis-repair. 

Up ahead, something caught her eye, a light spilling out from beneath another door. It beckoned her, this random illumination in the gloom, and Belle crept over. This door was somewhat ajar, so she nudged it the rest of the way open with her foot. Inside was something like a workshop or a laboratory. There were long tables, more shelves, some books, but the majority of the contents were ingredients, she supposed: a multitude of bottles and jars with various contents, some dark and some practically glowing. Belle was so distracted by this that she jumped when a voice said, “Hello, Dearie.”

She whirled around to see Rumplestiltskin standing behind her, his too-large eyes glittering. One of those reptilian smiles slithered around his mouth. She put a hand over her fluttering heart and willed it to calm. “You startled me.” He silently took a few steps towards Belle, studying her. 

“Looking for something?” he asked. 

“Yes, I was looking for you, actually.”

He raised an eyebrow at this. “I was lonely,” she admitted. Something changed in his expression, and he looked familiar again. Her eyes moved around the room.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“It’s where I do my work,” he answered vaguely. 

“Could you tell me more?” Belle prompted, the curiosity overtaking her in a rush. “About what you do…the magic?”

“Are you sure you want to know?” he asked. “I didn’t think you _approved_.”

“Just because I don’t understand it. You must admit, this is all very unusual. But…since I am part of it all now, yes, I would like to try.” She drew herself up, facing him.

After a long moment of silent contemplation, during which he seemed to be summing her up, Rumple said, “Very well. What would you like to know?”

 

 

Hours had flown by. Rumple patiently listened to Belle’s myriad of questions, allowing her to interrupt during the answers. They’d spent so much time that Belle had insisted on making tea—by boiling water, she’d been adamant that magic was not required for such a thing. He was quite touched that she was taking an interest in what he did, even as part of him screamed that she was only trying to learn his weaknesses. But Belle was very intelligent, and he could tell that she was naturally curious. She digested everything as best she could, but still had more questions.

“I don’t have every answer for you…yet,” he had to admit. “I’m still learning myself.” He gave her a smile, which she gently returned, and he couldn’t deny the bloom of warmth that crawled through him at the sight. 

“So, all of this,” Belle asked, waving her hand to indicate the books and unusual supplies, “just simply appeared? From where?”

“The magic brought it all here; when the castle was transformed, it gave me everything I might need.”

“It’s strange, though, that one would need some of these things,” she remarked, peering at the murky contents of one of the bottles. “Why does it need to be so…grim?”

“Needs must, Dearie,” he answered simply. “These are dark times, so we must delve into stranger magics. Certain objects will inherently have more power than others. Blood, for example.” He took hold of her wrist, turning it over, running his fingers over the thin skin there, where the blue veins were visible beneath. “It seems a little…unsavory, I know,” he went on, still stroking her, “but it is truly powerful. It carries the life essence of a person. So do fingernails, or a strand of hair for example, but those are weaker. Often blood is needed.”

Belle's cheeks had gone very pink and she swallowed with some difficulty. But she didn’t pull away, and Rumple could see that she was struggling to understand his world. He admired her very much for that. “Alright,” she said. “But I’ve been wondering…where does the magic even come from? Has it always been in this world, just hidden?”

“I honestly couldn’t tell you,” he replied, releasing her arm with some reluctance. That was only partly true. The darkness inside of Rumplestiltskin had shown him many things, had passed to him the arcane knowledge of his cursed predecessors. He knew that this was, in fact, not the only world in existence. There were others, so many others, and in more than a few of these, magic was quite commonplace. There was an undercurrent of energy that flowed between each world, linking them together, though they remained separated. And that undercurrent carried with it the same power that was now flowing through his veins. 

Rumplestiltskin knew all of this, but he wasn’t about to share it with Belle—not yet. If she continued to show interest, then perhaps he might, but as it currently stood he knew that she was still quite hesitant about the whole thing. While he knew she was a brilliant woman, the idea of multiple worlds might be a bit much for her to wrap her head around at first. And also, he didn’t exactly know where the magic came from originally, only that it seemed to be as old as time itself. 

“I see,” Belle replied. Her brow was furrowed and she was clearly thinking. 

“It’s a good deal to digest, Dearie, I understand. When…when we were young, at Avonlea, we pretended at magic. Strange to think it was real, all that time.” 

She smiled a faint, sad smile at the memory of bygone days. “Those were the happiest times, I think. Spending hours outdoors, in the fresh air. You had as big an imagination as I did. We were quite powerful together, do you recall? We fought ogres together.”

A bittersweet feeling curled inside of him. “Aye, we did. And we took back the kingdom from the evil queen.”

“Twice!” Belle remembered with a laugh, taking a sip of tea. “The Queen was very persistant.”

“As a good villain should be.” Rumple smiled at her, and she smiled back with a hopeful sweetness, a look that he hadn’t seen her wear since childhood. 

Setting down her tea cup, Belle looked into his eyes for a long moment, searching the darkness for something. Then she rested her hand against his face. He nearly flinched, he hadn’t been touched in so long, it seemed, and certainly not with such gentleness. His first instinct was to recoil, but this was _Belle_. “It really is you,” she said softly. 

 

X

 

Ruby tried to ignore the twitchy feeling crawling along her limbs. It always got like this before the full moon, but this time was particularly acute. She’d been in a miserable mood ever since waking, due to a series of bizarre nightmares. At first, it was visions of those she loved torn to shreds, the usual fodder—she’d had so many nightmares of that nature that it hardly bothered her anymore—but then it had dissolved into images of chilling shadows with eyes, and a dark island that appeared through heavy fog. For some reason, this unsettled her immensely. 

She wished that Victor was here to talk to, but he’d already left to get supplies. Worry sat like a rock in Ruby’s stomach, festering there. “He’s going to be fine, he’s coming back,” she chanted to herself like a mantra. He’d left before, naturally, but it always filled her with a horrid anxiety. In an effort to distract herself, Ruby went through the books on the shelf in his study—she liked it there because it smelled like him—and smiled as she saw the volume on Hysteria that had gotten him so flustered. She did like getting under his skin a little, it was a wicked impulse, but she knew that he had feelings for her, and it made her happy to see it. 

On his desk was an old book, _A History of Lycanthrope_. Ruby flipped it open. Inside was the usual dark woodcuts of monsters, the discussion of moon cycles, silver used as a weapon or deterrent…some fact but mostly myth. Nobody really believed in werewolves, anyway, except for the eccentric and superstitious, and that was probably for the best. Victor always insisted that she was a part of nature, a ‘miracle’ even. Deep inside, though, Ruby had always doubted that. Something about the wolf was older and stranger than this world, it had a power outside the boundaries of science. 

 

The afternoon wore on into early evening, and her worry grew with the traces of sunset, until she looked out the window and saw that her doctor had returned. Breathless, she ran down the stairs and through the maze of tunnels and doors until she burst out into the side yard. Her ears perked up, she sniffed the air, catching the smell of the undead. So far there were only a few, and they were on the other side of the manor by the grove of trees. Waiting for the moon. 

The sun had sunk lower and the pull of night was upon them. Ruby knew that she really should be getting back inside because she would definitely be transforming, and very soon—but something had compelled her, a fervid overprotectiveness perhaps, and she knew that she couldn’t rest until Victor was safe inside with her. She watched as he dismounted from his horse, shotgun in hand, and cautiously made his way towards the house. 

Then, several horrible things happened in quick succession. One of the wraiths had apparently moved away from the crowd by the trees and was quickly ambling towards him while his back was turned. Ruby saw it first, and without thinking she bolted forward, moving with what seemed to be an unnatural speed. There was a slight roaring in her ears, a pounding of adrenaline in her blood. She recognized the rising of the beast inside of her. Fear fell by the wayside for a time, as she pushed Victor out of the way (more like threw him, actually) putting herself in between him and the wraith. The thing was right in front of her, so close, she could peer right into its dead milky eyes and she suddenly hated it so acutely that as it tried to grab at her she bared her teeth and attacked in response, clawing at rotted flesh. 

Ruby barely was aware of Victor screaming her name, she remained in that feral state until the sound of a gunshot brought her back to her senses. The creature now lay on the ground, but the sound was drawing the others.

Victor was now at her side. “My gods, Ruby,” he said, and she saw the fear in his eyes first, then looked down at her arm. She’d been scratched by the wraith, and had barely even noticed in the struggle. Blood was slowly trickling from the jagged wound. 

“Oh, no,” she whispered. A familiar warning prickle was moving beneath her skin, and she looked up with horror to see the moon, full and bright, becoming visible in the sky. “I need to get inside.”

He grabbed her, and they ran.


	9. Chapter 9

Ruby ran into the cage and closed the door. She moved frantically, ripping off her dress without a thought to modesty. Fear pounded through Victor’s blood, a palpable, living thing. He could not lose Ruby, he just couldn’t. She was everything good about him. After everything, she stayed by his side, always encouraging him to be better. But without her, he would be worse than before. The darkness would claim him, and he would let it. Grim thoughts swallowed his mind as he watched her transformation occur, something beautiful and terrifying, something that he would never get used to. She shouldn’t exist, yet she did, and she had found him. And what he had done…

Suddenly, Victor found that it didn’t matter. If he lost her, to the very disease that she had unwittingly helped to create, he would give up. Turn back to the bottle and slowly drink himself to death while outside his manor walls the world fell to ruin. Cowardly, to be sure, but he’d never claimed to be brave. His hand twitched, fingers reflexively opening and closing, clutching uselessly at nothing. The night was going to be a long one. In the cage, the wolf stared back at him.

He’d finally passed out from exhaustion at some point during the miserable, fitful hours that followed—his longest and loneliest since his brother’s death. When he blinked his eyes open, pale morning light was slipping in through the windows. After a brief moment of disorientation, the events of the previous evening came rushing back to him. He sprang up from the chair and moved to the cage. Inside, Ruby lay on the floor, curled into the fetal position. She was human again, pale rose skin and long naked limbs, a tangle of dark hair.

“Ruby?” he whispered.

She stirred, stretching, then groggily pulled herself up. “Victor?” She shook her head, trying to clear it, then quickly glanced down at her arm. “Victor, look!” she cried, rushing forward. Her previously injured limb showed no scratch mark, the skin perfectly mended and unblemished. Her eyes were wild with relief.

Thanking whatever gods might exist, the doctor quickly unlocked the door and she launched herself into his arms, squeezing him tightly. Her shoulders began to shake and he realized that she was crying. He stroked a hand over her hair.

“How?” he asked in disbelief. 

“I don’t know,” she answered, tears still spilling down her face. “I think maybe…the wolf saved me. The transformation—perhaps it neutralized the virus.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, his mind spinning. All he could really focus on was the feel of Ruby in his arms, solid and healthy. And naked. He was suddenly acutely aware of her lack of clothing. It seemed that she was, too, because she pulled away gently and covered herself with her hands. He averted his eyes with some difficulty, and quickly got a blanket to wrap around her shoulders. 

Her eyes sparkled with happy tears, a smile still on her lips, and she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

“This,” she began shyly, tightening the blanket around herself, “this could be important, right? We may be one step closer to finding a cure. You should probably start running some tests…”

“That can wait,” Victor found himself saying, and Ruby stared at him with surprise. “Right now, I just want to look at you.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She smiled again, a soft, fragile look that still held heat, if he wasn’t mistaken.

He could feel her pulse beneath his fingertips. Ruby almost wanted to turn away because his eyes were so very blue they were nearly burning her but at the same time, never had she wanted to pull anyone closer. And so, she let her instincts take over, surrendering to the freedom that brought, and before she could blink again, she brought her lips against his.

 

X

 

In her bedroom at the dark castle in the woods, Belle once again had a very odd dream. It had been a dream in two parts, the first being interesting, the second, frightening. It began like the dreams she’d had while living at Appleton. The Dark One came to her, running his hands over her body as he had in previous dreams, heated trails following his fingers. Then the laces from her gown came undone, and the fabric fell to the floor, exposing her bare breasts. He cupped them in his hands, and she moaned at the roughness of his scales against her soft flesh. He gently squeezed, pinching her nipples with his nails, making her squirm. She heard him chuckle, then he slid his hand down her stomach and lower, until he was barely brushing the top of her mound. Then, with a dizzying abruptness, the dream changed. A shadow. Death. Bones. Dark water, voices crying out, begging. Screaming. “Save us! Save us! Set us free!” Belle woke, startled, sitting upright in bed, heart hammering. At first, she thought it so loud that she could hear it echoing in the room, but she realized that it was merely the sound of another chilly rain tapping at the windows.

 

Belle’s mind was practically humming with all of the new information that she had been given the previous day, and with the closeness that she was once again feeling towards Rumplestiltskin. She knew that she would never be able to get back all of the time that they had lost—he would never be the boy from Avonlea again—but likewise she would never be that girl. Circumstances had seen to it that they were different people now, but certain things could be salvaged. There had been a distinct and palpable electricity to the air when he was teaching her about magic. Perhaps this was something that they could share, she would simply have to learn to put aside some of her prejudices about the subject. She was becoming more open to it, fascinated, even, though there was still that odd feeling creeping along her back at the thought of certain books. 

She did wonder about the dream, though, both parts. She’d never really been plagued by nightmares before, only in the past few weeks. The first half of the dream—the more pleasant half—she was sure had to do with her conflicting feelings towards Rumplestiltskin. Belle was coming to realize that he was no less attractive to her in his current form, which held a unique appeal, was alluring in its Otherness. She wondered what that said about her, that she should be attracted to such a man. She knew that Gaston had been considered very handsome by the women in the village, and Belle was envied for having such a rugged, attractive husband, but she’d never felt anything romantic for him. None of the stirrings that she’d read about in her novels. But now, she was beginning to understand those _particular_ feelings a little bit more. She told herself that it was because the Rumple she had once known and loved was still there underneath the dark glamour, but if she was being honest she’d have to admit that she found the darkness rather enticing. Regina had often called her ‘odd’, and perhaps she was. 

Belle decided not to dwell on it for too long, busying herself with getting a cup of tea and something small to eat from the kitchens, and then continuing on with the cleaning tasks that she had begun the day before. Soon, she found herself near the door to the library, which once again beckoned to her. Despite her uneasy feeling about some of the books, she couldn’t resist, and went inside. Her fingers danced over the spines as she perused the shelf, and came to rest upon a book with deep red binding. She pulled it down and glanced at the title, _A Compendium of Sexual Sorcery_. Belle’s eyes widened and she moved to put it back but curiosity got the better of her, and she opened it. 

Just as she did so, she heard a voice say, “Well now, Dearie, what have you got there?” 

She was so surprised that she dropped the book. She moved to pick it up, but Rumplestiltskin was quicker. While her cheeks flushed scarlet, he glimpsed the title and his eyebrows raised. “Interesting choice,” he said. 

“I was just browsing,” Belle rushed to explain. “I didn’t know what it was.”

“Is that so?” Rumple asked. “You always did love books. I’m not surprised that you found your way in here. A keen mind is a wonderful thing. Though, this might be just a tad advanced,” he added, handing the book back to her. 

She quickly set it on the shelf. “This is a fascinating library,” Belle told him, eager to change the subject. “I’ve never seen books like this before.”

“You can read whatever you like,” he said with a nod. “If you’re interested.”

“Thank you,” Belle replied politely.

Rumple was quiet for a moment, then began, “I was wondering…since you showed such an interest yesterday, would you like me to teach you some more of what I do? Rather than just explaining it?” He seemed shy, she noticed, and almost hopeful.

“Do you truly think I can learn such things?” Belle asked skeptically. “I don’t have the same sort of abilities that you possess.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You have a willingness, that’s what counts. Never hurts to try.”

“Alright,” she said with a smile. “Very well.”

 

He first taught her how to brew a simple potion. He stood behind her as she worked, taking hold of her hands, guiding their movements as she measured out various ingredients and added slowly added them to a small cauldron. Every time she felt his touch, her heart beat quicker, and she was reminded of her dreams. It got so bad that when his fingers met her arm the next time, Belle dropped the small vial of powder that she was holding.

Rumplestiltskin immediately backed away, a grim look on his face. “If I’m making you uncomfortable, you can tell me,” he said gruffly. “No need to be polite.”

“No, no,” she rushed, not wanting him to think that she was repelled by him, when in fact it was entirely the opposite. “It’s not that. I’m…it’s just that I’ve…”

“What?” he asked tersely. “Out with it, Dearie.”

Belle took a breath, then said, “I’ve been having these dreams. Of you. I had them even before I knew you were the Dark One, when I was at Appleton.”

His brow furrowed in mild confusion, but he motioned for her to continue. 

“They’re…dreams of a more romantic nature,” she clarified. 

Rumple looked honestly shocked, his eyebrows went up and his mouth dropped open a little in surprise. Then he collected himself and said, “Ah, I see. And what happens in these dreams?”

“Well, mainly just touches. You touch my skin, my, uh,” she moved a hand to indicate her breasts.

He chuckled a little. “Come now, you were a married woman, I’m sure tis nothing unfamiliar.” 

Belle stopped still, her face going a deeper red, this time from shame and embarrassment. How could she tell him that she and Gaston had lived as man and wife for years but had never even consummated their marriage? But Rumple saw her discomfort, and his face changed with understanding. “Oh,” he said. “Are you still a maiden?” 

She folded her arms. This was hardly the discussion she’d expected to be having with him. “Yes,” she mumbled. “It just…never happened. I suppose we weren’t romantically compatible.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he rushed to assure her. His mind was whirring with this new knowledge. “Perhaps he wasn’t meant to be the one,” Rumple added, and he saw a smile pick up the corners of her mouth. “Well, so long as you’re not bothered by me, we should probably get on with this potion. Some of the ingredients are restless.” He nodded his head towards a small jar which contained several beetle-like insects. 

This was the part that Belle hadn’t been too excited about, but Rumplestiltskin assured her that they were a necessary component of this particular spell and so she let him take hold of her hands again and guide them to open the jar. She reached inside and pulled out one of the insects, its small legs tickled her skin as it tried to escape its fate. Belle dropped it into the little cauldron, and the mixture inside flared to life with a bright green burst of illumination. 

Startled, she jumped back, bumping into his chest. He put his hands on her shoulders. “No need to be frightened,” Rumple assured her with a grin. “You did very well. The light is a sign that the formula worked.”

Belle smiled. “I did it, then?” She was proud of herself. 

“Yes,” he said. His hands were still against her arms. A kind of heady tension wove between the two of them, the same intoxicating, smoky heat from her dream.

“Belle?” he asked.

“Hmm?” Her voice shook a little.

“Would you consider being my apprentice?”


End file.
